


Eye for Eye, Tooth for Tooth

by orphan_account



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Akechi Goro Attends Shujin Academy, Akechi Goro and Sakamoto Ryuji are Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Child Abuse, Conspiracy Theories, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Murder, Non-Canonical Character Death, Non-Con only in one chapter so far, Obsessive Behavior, Past Relationship(s), Persona 5 Protagonist is from Inaba, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Revenge, Sakura Futaba Attends Kosei High School, Sakura Sojiro and Isshiki Wakaba are Divorced, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Toudou Naoya is the SAME AGE as Kurusu Akira, Underage Drinking, Velvet Room Attendant Toudou Naoya, Verbal Abuse, all of these bitches are liars, arcana swap, but still friends!!, gilmore girls - Freeform, it's mostly mishima being mishima, suppressed gay feelings because they're still not over their dead ex, there is so much betrayal, this is complicated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Trickster, the cards have been shuffled. Ths game is new. There are new players, and old players have been taken from the board. You must rely on your bonds to defeat the coming ruin.—————Kurusu Akira gets sued, moves to Tokyo, and tries his best to live a normal life in the absence of his ex-boyfriend. He expects it to be a hard year.What he doesn't expect is to be caught up in a string of mysterious, gory murders, all suspiciously linking back to a world hidden behind an app on his smartphone. With the killer closing in, Akira must get to the targets before it's too late.There's a fine line between the right thing and the wrong thing when the world gets flipped upside down.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Niijima Makoto, Akechi Goro & Shirogane Naoto, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Isshiki Wakaba & Sakura Futaba, Kitagawa Yusuke & Sakura Futaba, Kitagawa Yusuke/Sakamoto Ryuji, Kujikawa Rise/Shirogane Naoto, Kurusu Akira & Lala Escargot, Kurusu Akira & Mishima Yuuki, Kurusu Akira & Sakamoto Ryuji, Kurusu Akira & Sakura Futaba, Kurusu Akira & Sakura Sojiro, Niijima Makoto/Togo Hifumi, Okumura Haru/Takamaki Ann, Onesided Mishima Yuuki/Kurusu Akira, Past Akechi Goro/Sakamoto Ryuji, Past Kurusu Akira/Toudou Naoya, Sakura Futaba & Sakura Sojiro, past Sakura Sojiro/Wakaba Isshiki
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92





	1. arrival

**Author's Note:**

> there are some mature themes in this fic, so please read with caution!!
> 
> yes, this is an arcana swap au, so please feel free to guess who’s represented with what card! i love to hear theories!!  
> (edit: 12 chapters in and i'm explicitly stating which arcana is who lmao. i'm almost sorry, but my word count needs it)

Akira didn't think that he would feel anxious while traveling without his suitcase. He does, proving he didn't think. Again. He sighs, ignoring the voice in the back of his head whispering poison into his ear. He can't let himself get wrapped up in that right now. Shibuya's train station rolls into view, and Akira wonders if he could just stay on the train until the carriages were empty, and the only sound is the rumble of the tracks beneath the train. 

Akira gets off at his stop. 

The crowds are immense. Inaba was never like this. He could ride his motorbike around the streets without worrying about a helmet, as much as it scared his friends. Here, you can't step a foot without bumping into someone. It's both suffocating and exhilarating. He opens the map on his phone and types in the name of the station he has to transfer to. 

A small red icon is hovering on his screen, the eye staring into his like it wants to make a connection. He laughs off the thought. 

_Don't be ridiculous, Akira._

_Stay focused, Akira._

_Keep your head out of the clouds, Akira._

He follows the map, almost running into a woman with long, silver hair. He apologizes and keeps moving. The station is by the Hachiko statue, several people begging for the crowd's attention. A reporter is talking brightly into a camera, smiling widely. Akira looks up at the statue, pausing for a moment. 

The story used to make him cry. He thought it was so sad that Hachiko didn't have anyone to wait with him. Akira shakes himself out of his daydream. He is going to miss his train if he's late, and if he misses his train, he'll miss the window to appear as normal as a convicted malefactor can. 

He gets to Yongen-Jaya without trouble. An ambulance is parked down the side of an alley, the sirens flashing bright lights but silent. He watches as a woman in a doctor's white coat hurries out of a building, opening the doors to the back of the truck. Paramedics wheel out a cloth-covered gurney, the person underneath it still twitching. The doctor notices him staring. 

"Hey! Move along, there's nothing to see here," She waves him off with a clipboard, her eyes stern. He scampers away, his hands shaking slightly. Looking over his shoulder, he sees a peek of the person underneath the cloth. 

They are convulsing, black tar pouring out of every orifice on their face. Their eyes have rolled into the back of their head, and their skin is as white as paper. Black veins pulse in their hands, bubbling like hot oil. Akira snaps his head back around and goes back on his search for his new guardian's house. 

The backstreets prove to be useless, so Akira has to venture out into the open again. Looking for a café sign, he wanders around until he got back to the street where the ambulance is parked. Everything is silent. Akira peers around the corner, seeing the doctor leaning out of her window, snapping off bloodstained gloves. She lights a cigarette and puffs out a sigh of smoke. He scurries off before she can see him again. 

Leblanc is warm and quiet, but not silent. Akira is _so_ glad it's not silent. Too much quiet tends to overwhelm him, drowning out all noise with the threat of breaking something so fragile. There is only one person in the café. 

A man leans against the bar, a box television resting on a cabinet behind him. He flips through a newspaper, tapping a pencil against the paper. He looks up. 

"Oh, right. You're here." He says, folding it under one arm and getting up. Akira swallows.

"I'm Kurusu Akira. Thank you for taking care of me." He says, holding out a hand to shake. The man raises an eyebrow and shakes it, giving him an inscrutable look. 

"You don't seem like the type I was told you'd be. I'm Sakura Sojiro. Follow me." He says, nodding to the stairs in the back. 

The attic is large, dusty, and disordered. Sakura glances at him with another one of his indiscernible looks. 

Akira clears his throat. "It's big." 

Sakura huffs out a humorless laugh. "You can clean it up yourself. Your luggage arrived earlier, it's just over there." He shrugs in the general direction of the cardboard box in the middle of the room. 

Akira crouches next to it, opening it up and looking through it. He hears Sakura retreat down the stairs, the floorboards creaking behind him. Akira turns back to his box of items, rifling through it to find what he's looking for. His hands close around the fabric, and he pulls it to his chest. Burying his face in the sweater, Akira inhales shakily, on the verge of tears. It still smells like him. Akira knows it'll be hard to move away from him, but he doesn't have a choice. The fabric dampens under his tears, darkening the color as he sniffles. He looks up through bleary eyes, gazing at all of the things packed compactly into the box. This was going to be difficult, especially without him, but Akira had gotten along fine for a while, now. He'll just have to do it in a different place for a year. 

He pulls off his new school uniform, folding them in a pile on the couch next to him. He'd have to wear them again tomorrow. Akira lets the sweater slide over his torso, relishing the softness of it. He places the box in the shelving unit by the stairs, watching as the dust falls like rain from the rafters as he shakes the shelves. Wrinkling his nose, he gets to work. 

After cleaning for a few hours, Akira flops back onto the hastily-made bed, staring up at the ceiling. The floorboards groan in warning, then Sakura peers upstairs. 

"Wow. You really cleaned it up. Not half-bad. I just came up to tell you I'm headed home now. We'll head to Shujin in the morning." 

Akira nods, sitting up. A sudden ringtone startles him. Sakura flicks out his phone and answers it. 

"Yeah, I'm headed back right now. Just locking up." He says, descending the stairs. 

Akira falls back again, then fishes out his phone. He takes a look at the train schedule for the next day, swiping absentmindedly through the different possible routes he could take. He thinks back to the twitching body being pulled out of the ambulance, the black, viscous liquid pouring out of their mouth, and the way the doctor had just pulled off her gloves and went for a smoke. Was this normal? Did she do this often? He bites his lip, then pulls off his shoes and his jeans. 

His hands linger on the sweater, and he decides to keep it on. It's still fairly cold, and he needs comfort right now. He curls up on his side and flicks through his phone, checking off the days until he gets to go home on his calendar. Akira nestles his face into the oversized sweater, thinking back to summer in Inaba. 

The beach, and the way the skies would suddenly overturn their contents, turning a picturesque sunny day into a warm thunderstorm, ripe with energy. He remembers dancing in the rain, letting the fat droplets slide down his face and into the seafoam. Ducking under a wave only to resurface, and have his breath taken away by a kiss. There was something so perfect about kissing in the seawater, rain pouring down around them. Akira would trade anything to go back to the thunderstorms and the brine, his hand entwined with another's, salt shining on their skin. 

Akira thinks about him. How he wasn't even from Inaba, and the way he would gape at how beautiful the fallen petals swam in the puddles outside the shrine seemed to him. He would let Akira try on all of his necklaces he owned, fingers brushing the nape of his neck. Sometimes, if he was feeling brave, he would remove them with his teeth, kissing the metal away. They would sneak off to the ocean at night, watching the sun stain the sky pink and indigo, sometimes from the water, sometimes from the sand. He came from the city, fresh and new, with a confidence Akira had only seen in the models in magazines. Akira loved him. 

Akira sighs, then lets his eyes fall back to his phone. The screen is completely red, with a sinister-looking eye staring up at him. He taps the screen, but everything is frozen, and it doesn't respond. Then it hits him. The headache washes over him like ice water, rendering him immobile. He pants, the pain is _unimaginable_. As soon as it comes, it leaves. Akira stares at his phone, watching as his calendar marks the day he's scheduled to arrive back home. 

That night, Akira dreams of hands wrapped around his waist and a body against his. It feels so real that Akira looks around for him afterward, only to be greeted by a new school uniform folded neatly on the couch. 

Shujin seems cold. Akira waits patiently as the Principal explains his conditions. Akira pretends to listen. He's already heard it all before. He takes his student ID and nods idly when Sakura asks him if this is going to be alright. They take Sakura's yellow Beetle back, listening to the news in silence. Sakura opens his mouth to say something but seems to think against it, as he closes it. 

"Today, we have received news of another casualty. Yoshida Toranosuke had collapsed in Station Square only yesterday. Local medical practitioner, Dr. Takemi Tae, has not released an official statement but has confirmed that the politician had suffered a mental shutdown-" 

Sakura hums disapprovingly. "She's been up to her knees in work lately. She was a lead researcher in preventing those mental shutdowns a year or two ago." 

Akira nods then turns to Sakura. "Is she stationed in Yongen?" 

The man nods, tipping his hat a little lower over his eyes. "Her methods are a little... Unorthodox, but she gets the job done well." 

They sit in silence for the rest of the drive, keeping their eyes focused on the road. 

Akira goes to sleep, dreaming of the rustle of chains. He wakes up in the middle of the night, sweating and jittery. He opens the window, staring down at the street below. The air is humming with electricity, the smog of the city blocking out the scent of the orange tree by his window. The lights smother the stars, and the sky is terribly still, but Akira can't help but feel that something is coming. He doesn't know what, but something is on the horizon. Falling back into bed, Akira drifts off into uneasy sleep. 

Sakura gives him a plate of curry for breakfast. It's the best damn thing Akira's ever tasted. 

"Thank you for the meal." He says, on his way out of the door. Sakura waves him out. 

"Go, you'll be late." He calls, unfolding his newspaper. 

The trains are fairly simple. He has a hard time finding the Ginza line, but he spots another student in the Shujin uniform. The rumors of the packed train carriages prove to be true. Akira can hardly get off of the train fast enough, slightly dizzy from the close quarters. As he steps out of the station, a fat drop of rain hits him square in the nose. He's glad that he didn't take his mother's 'advice' on wearing fake glasses. He doesn't see the point. The rain starts to quicken, the sidewalk soon becoming slick with water. He takes shelter underneath the awning of a store, brushing the rainwater from his blazer and shaking it out of his hair. 

Wiping the rain from his face, he notices someone walk over to him, stopping under the awning as well. He glances over at the figure and stops. 

He shakes his almond-colored hair out of a ponytail, sending droplets flying across his shoulders. Akira watches as he looks out from under the awning, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Their eyes meet, and the boy gives him a small smile. Akira blinks himself out of his staring and smiles back. 

A blonde girl walks past them, her hair shimmering in its high ponytail A white car slides next to her, and the window rolls down. An exchange between the driver and the girl ends with her getting in the car. As the window rolls up, Akira sees her face contort into something dark. Her sapphire eyes pierce through him, and Akira gets a shiver up his spine. The car drives off, leaving another blonde in the dust. Unlike the girl's, his hair is not natural. He curses, then runs in the direction the car was going. 

"Pardon me, but you wouldn't happen to be the transfer student, would you?" The boy standing next to him says, crimson eyes glittering sharply. Akira nods. 

"Yeah. How'd you know?" He rubs the back of his neck, tangling his fingers in his hair. 

"Ah, of course, where are my manners? I'm Akechi Goro. I'm the Student Council President." Akechi offered Akira his hand, smiling coyly. 

He shakes it. Akechi nods to the slackening rain. "It's starting to let up. Come on, I'll walk you there." 

Akira follows Akechi through a bunch of back alleys. He walks fast and with conviction, and Akira would struggle to keep up if his legs weren't as long. Luckily for him, he makes it to Shujin in due time, following Akechi through the halls. His phone buzzes, and he reaches a gloved hand into his pocket. The brown-haired boy sighs then turns to him. 

"I know we just met, but could you do me a favor?" He asks, smiling apologetically. Akira nods. 

"Sure. What do you need?"

"Thank you. Can you drop these papers off to Niijima in the Student Council room? Tell her I sent you." He says, handing Akira a small stack of documents. He glances down at his still buzzing phone and scowls. 

When he looks back up at him, his face is perfectly genial. "I have some... Business to take care of. I'll make this up to you, you have my word." 

Akechi smiles charmingly, and walks off in a hurry, answering his phone. His voice dies down as he gets further away, leaving Akira to fend for himself on the large campus.

He looks down at the papers, scanning them as he tried to locate the Student Council room. He stops outside the yellow door, confused. Akechi is passing the title of Student Council President to someone called Niijima Makoto. Akira wonders if it has anything to do with the "business" he had to take care of. Shrugging, he knocks on the door. 

After a few moments, a very tired-looking girl answers. 

"Yes?" She charges, pinching her brow. Akira hands her the papers.

"Akechi sent me. He wanted me to give you these." He says quietly, taking his hand away to avoid paper cuts as she snatched the documents. 

She mouths the words as she reads through them, then her face pales. Akira coughs awkwardly. "Um, congratulations?"

She shuts the door in his face.

His homeroom class is generally rather quiet. He sits in front of a student who keeps giving him a rather odd look, but he ignores it. The teacher, Kawakami, he thinks, is about to start the lesson when a girl walks in. She strides across the classroom taking a seat in front of Akira. A few whispers arise, but Kawakami says nothing, she just shoots the girl a dirty look and points to the chalkboard with her chalk. They lock eyes, and before Akira knows it, he's standing at the front of the class. 

"This is your new classmate. He's just transferred here, so be nice." She says, then nudges him. He blinks, then rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. 

"Oh, right. I'm Kurusu Akira. It's nice to meet you all." He offers, giving them all a small wave. 

A rush of murmurs reply, a few students going as far to call him cute. The blonde sitting in the seat in front of him only glares. He passes her on the way back to his seat and she looks away, staring intently out of the window. 

He loses interest quickly, his mind going to places outside of the dreary classroom. Akechi seemed familiar. Akira wonders if he's seen him somewhere, or if he just has one of those faces. He doesn't think so. Akechi himself is rather striking. There's a sharpness to him that he doesn't let on to others. 

Akechi reminds Akira of him. They're both rather delicate in looks, but they seem to hide an edge. Akira shakes his head. He shouldn't do that. Not now, at least. He'll have time to lick his wounds soon enough, but he has to focus on getting through the year without hosting his very own pity party. 

The bell rings, startling Akira out of his reverie. He makes it out of the classroom without attracting too much attention to himself. Ducking into the hall, he pushes some of his hair out of his face. He looks around, making sure he's not in anyone's way, before turning around, and promptly knocking into Akechi. 

"Ah, sorry, my bad." He says, stammering a little. 

The brown-haired boy simply laughs, but it does seem a little forced. "It's fine. I just didn't see you." 

Akira clears his throat, averting his eyes. "I've been told I'm not very discernable in a crowd."

Akechi raises an eyebrow. "Really? I would have said the opposite. You seem to give off the polar energy to me." 

He hums in thought, studying Akira for a moment before shrugging. His eyes are the most telling thing about him, he decides. Where his countenance is generally genial and docile, there is something behind his eyes that says there's more to him. 

"Ah, Ryuji-kun," Akechi says, looking over Akira's shoulder at the blonde boy from this morning. The boy gives Akechi a once-over, then affectionately bumps his fist on his arm.

"Whaddya want?" He clears his throat. Akechi smiles. 

"I'm fairly certain that you haven't dyed your hair back to black. Now, I'm no longer in a position to chastise you, but Kamoshida seemed to be in a bad mood this morning. You might want to consider avoiding him while you can." 

Sakamoto's demeanor softens. "Oh. Thanks, man. I'll be sure to keep an eye out." He's about to leave when Akira catches his eye. "Oh, you must be the new transfer student. 'M Sakamoto Ryuji."

"Kurusu Akira." He replies, wondering why everyone seems to know about him. Sakamoto grins. 

"You're in Kawakami's class, right?" He says, then leans in conspiratorially, "Y'know, Takamaki's in her class, too. That girl is _fine_ as _hell_. Shame she's gettin' it on with Kamoshida." 

His eyes are trained on Akechi as he says that, a slight smirk playing up on his face. Akechi's eyes harden, and Akira swears his lips twitch into a sneer. He's back to his poker face before Akira can blink. 

He kicks at an imaginary rock, then heartily claps Akira on the back. Akechi's smile is slightly sour as Ryuji walks off. 

Akira looks back at him, slightly dazed. "He seems... Nice?" 

Akechi frowns. "Hm. Don't believe everything you hear." He turns on his heel and marches onwards, adjusting the cuffs of his blazer. 

He stops as if waiting for something. Akira realizes he's waiting for him and jogs a little to catch up, murmuring an apology under his breath. He isn't blessed with a reply. 

The school's whispers finally grow loud enough that Akira can notice they're about him and Akechi. He passes by a trio of girls giggling quietly. 

"Wow, the new boy's already head over heels, huh?" One says, not bothering to be subtle. Her tall friend laughs, her tone spiteful.

"Aw, come on, now. I don't think it's his fault. Akechi-kun is just like _that_ , you know?" 

A round-faced girl with almond-shaped eyes glares at the two of them, then tugs her friend down to her level. "I bet they're headed up to the roof. I heard from Miki that's where he does it for _money_." 

Akira glances at Akechi, watching how he ignores the rumors, pushing through the crowd, and heading up the stairs. Looking around for any witnesses, he opens the door to the roof. He gestures for Akira to go first, then shuts the door behind him. 

He leans against one of the scattered desks, his garnet eyes intensely focused on the black-haired boy. The wind ruffles Akechi's hair, blowing it into his face. He raises his wrist to his mouth, taking the hair tie between his teeth and pulling it off of his hand, then ties his hair back. 

"Think of this as an unofficial debriefing." He starts, "The rumor mill here is treacherous. You'll want to keep your head down. You've heard what they're saying about me, no?" 

Akira hesitantly nods his head, his hands delving into his pockets. Akechi continues, colder than normal. 

"Try to stay away from prominent individuals. Ryuji will land you in suspension. Niijima doesn't have time for you, anyway. Takamaki will just wreck you." 

Akira looks up from where he's been staring at the grass poking through the concrete. "What about you?" 

He's not sure why he says it. Maybe it's because Akechi just reminds Akira of _him_. God, he just needs to let it go. Akechi looks up in surprise, nonetheless. His shock melts into quiet bitterness. 

"They'll label you how they labeled me." He says coldly, looking out at the city. 

"And how did they label you?" Akira pushes. Akechi raises an eyebrow. 

"I was right about you. How intriguing," He sighs, then tucks some of his hair behind his ear, "They call me practically everything, you name it. Slut, whore, et cetera." 

He launches off of the desk, then smiles brightly again. It's faker than polystyrene. He gives Akira's arm a friendly pat, then opens the door for him. 

"That's all I wanted to say. Keep your head low, stay out of trouble," He says, then catches Akira as he's about to leave, "Oh, under no circumstances will you stand up to, attempt to accuse, or even give a dirty look to Kamoshida. He'll _destroy_ you." 

Akira descends the stairs, unloading all of the information in his head. He hadn't even seen this Kamoshida, but it seems everyone is trying to hide something about him. He's still deep in thought as he rounds the corner, and he almost catches the eyes of the two people arguing in the hallway. A tall, burly man has his hand latched onto the girl he keeps seeing. Takamaki, isn't it? She's struggling against his grip, muttering insults and threats at him. He steps forward, quietly approaching to hear their conversation.

"Let go! I told you already, I'm not interested." Takamaki hisses, clawing at his abnormally large bicep. 

"Come on, Ann-chan, just a little while. Don't you want Shiho to stay on the team? It'd be a shame if she was taken off." He grins, a twisted kind of glee apparent on his face. Takamaki inhales sharply, looking around for help, presumably. 

Akira steps forward again, mustering all of his courage. "Hey, uh, _Ann_. Weren't we going to, uh, study at your house today?" 

God, he hopes this works. Takamaki glances at him, then at the man, nodding slowly. 

"Yeah, we were. See? That's why I can't. Now, let me _go_." She demands, wrenching free. 

The man growls. "Hey. Aren't you that new transfer student? The one with the criminal record?" 

Fuck. How did he know? Akira gapes like a fish on a hook, struggling for words. Takamaki links an arm through his and puts on a saccharine smile, oozing sweetness. 

"Of course not! I'm going now, so I'll see you tomorrow, Kamoshida-sensei." She waves goodbye, then powerwalks away, dragging Akira with her. 

As soon as they're out of sight, she throws him against the wall, grabbing him by his collar, and pulling him up against the plaster. 

"What the fuck is your problem? Are you insane? Do you _want_ a broken rib?" She growls, cobalt eyes darkening. Akira stutters, pulling at her hands. 

"I'm sorry? You looked like you needed help. I just-" 

She interrupts him, snapping like a lioness. "Don't. Stay out of it, this has nothing to do with you. Don't expect me to thank you for making it all worse." 

Takamaki forcefully drops him, then walks away. Akira rubs at his neck. That's what he gets for sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. Turns out, that seems to be a bad habit of his. He should just go home. 


	2. awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira gets swept into something he doesn't think is possible.  
> He meets his self-proclaimed "foster sister", and they have a heart to heart.

The next morning arriving at school seems restless. People shy away from him, either afraid or disgusted. 

"Assault, you said? Wow, didn't think he'd be the type. He seemed so cute the other day." A whisper behind a hand still makes his way to his ears, stinging like needles. 

Akira walks through the halls to his homeroom class, hearing whispers of smoking, drinking, and knives. As he's about to open the door, a hand on his shoulder stops him. He turns, already tired. Sakamoto is standing behind him, looking mildly intrigued.

"Hey, man, let's talk." 

It's more of a demand than a question. Akira follows him up to the roof, wondering how many people use it for important conversations. Sakamoto is much less subtle than Akechi, opening the door and closing it loudly. He hops onto a desk, pulling out a soda from his pocket. Sakamoto offers it to him, pulling out a bottle of his own. 

"So, criminal record, huh? Who'd you piss off to get that leaked?" Sakamoto says, indelicately. Akira takes a sip.

"Kamoshida, I think." 

Sakamoto stomps his foot and kicks a desk. "Damn, that bastard! What did you to to get _his_ panties in a twist?"

Akira blinks, then looks away. "He was trying to get some girl to come with him somewhere. I guess I got in the way." 

Sakamoto nods, taking a swig from his soda. "You don't seem like the type to get a record. You're real quiet, y'know? Whatcha do?"

He bites his lip, playing with the lid of his soda bottle. "Similar situation, actually. But, uh, I actually didn't touch the guy. He was blind drunk, so he just fell on his own." 

Sakamoto's jaw falls open. "Dude, what the shit? That totally sucks balls, man, I'm so sorry." 

Akira shrugs. There isn't anything he can do now. He just has to tough it out until he gets sent back. Sakamoto frowns as if he's thinking hard, then he pulls out his phone. 

"Hey, you wouldn't have happened to see this app, have you?" Sakamoto shows him the red eye icon Akira has seen on his phone for the past three days. He nods, then fishes his own phone out of his pocket. The blonde whistles then sits back.

"So, what's yours like?" He says excitedly, his leg bouncing. Akira cocks his head to the side, confused.

"My what?" He asks, leaning against a desk. 

Sakamoto frowns. "You've got the app, but you've never been inside?" 

Akira sighs then rubs the back of his head. "Inside what?"

Sakamoto flicks his phone on again, typing furiously into it before he places it face down. 

"Okay, so when did you first get it?" He asks, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. Akira fills him in on everything, which is not a lot. He still doesn't know what's going on. 

The door opens behind them, Akechi emerging onto the roof. 

"Ryuji, this better be fucking good." He growls, crossing his arms. Akira is taken aback. Akechi isn't sheathing his claws anymore. He doesn't spare the second-year a glance, focusing solely on Sakamoto.

The blonde kicks back then jabs a thumb in his direction. "He's got the app." 

Akechi raises an eyebrow. "And does he have a Persona?" 

Akira is beyond confused. He has no clue what these two are talking about. He thought the app was some kind of malware, so of course, he didn't open it. Akechi seems to be trying to shoot lasers into Sakamoto's skull with his eyes. 

"Um, Akechi-senpai, what is going on?" Akira asks, trying to be as respectful as possible. The brown-haired boy looks down at him, then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"It'd be easier to just show you. Open the app." He said, gesturing to his phone. 

Akira picks up his phone and presses the icon. Immediately, his head starts to spin, and his eyes hurt from behind. The sky fuzzes like television static, breaking up into little pieces then stitching back together again. The air turns so humid that Akira can barely breathe. He gasps, and suddenly, air floods his lungs. 

He's standing on top of a castle's tower, the moon hanging pale and tallow in the sky. He looks around, feeling the rush of the wind from being so far up. He turns around, faced with two figures in strange clothing. One of them looks like they've stepped out of a shounen manga, with a skull mask, a black leather bodysuit, and a bright red ascot. The other seems to look like a mix between a classic Western prince, with epaulets and gilded buttons down the front, but the color scheme is completely off. He's dressed entirely in black, blue, and silver. Buckles adorn his legs, and his mask resembles that of a masquerade mask, but with two horns protruding through a very familiar fringe.

"Akechi-senpai? Sakamoto-kun?" Akira asks, squinting in confusion. They both nod. 

"Not bad, huh?" Sakamoto says, giving him a little twirl. Akechi groans and grabs him by the shoulder, stopping him from turning further. 

"This is the Metaverse. We are currently in someone's twisted view of the school. We think it's Kamoshida's." Akechi says, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. 

Sakamoto rolls his neck, massaging his shoulder. "If you've got the app, it means you're important." 

Akira has drawn a blank. He's standing on the roof of a tower with two other boys in _Halloween costumes_. He looks down, seeing inhuman shapes slither around, taking on disproportionate forms. Akira gulps then turns back to his classmates. 

Akechi seems to be deep in thought, his hand resting below his chin. "I _knew_ there was something about you." 

The blonde looks at Akechi nodding at Akira. "So how do we get him his?" 

"My what?" He tries, weakly. 

Akechi shrugs. "We could always try pushing him off. A life or death situation would awaken it." 

"Awaken _what_?" He mutters quietly, sighing melancholically. They ignore him, coming up with a few more redundant theories. 

He can't fucking take it anymore. Akira holds his head in his hands, knotting his fingers in his hair. First, his record gets leaked, now he's been whisked off on a wacky adventure into someone's heart. _Fine_. If they're going to ignore him, he's going to figure this out himself. Akira prays the drop isn't as far as it looks, and steps off the tower. 

He hurtles through the air, the wind rushing against his face. Akira lands, rolling onto his shoulder. The impact is deflected, but he can tell it'll leave a bruise. Sakamoto and Akechi look down from the tower, then drop down like they're hopping off a small staircase. 

"Well, the drop didn't work. Maybe get him to fight some shadows?" Sakamoto scratches his head. Akechi seems to mull it over. 

"Could work. I'm sure he has the potential, I can practically feel it." He says, staring at his hands, then at Akira. 

Or, where Akira had been standing two minutes ago. He's currently walking in through the front door, watching what looks like Kamoshida in a speedo and a fluffy cloak give a speech. He leans against the doorframe, wondering how many drugs Sakamoto had slipped into the soda. 

Kamoshida spots him, his face growing dark. "There! Get him, he's a trespasser!" 

Before Sakamoto and Akechi get to him, Akira finds himself being hauled off into a lift. A sword presses into his back, sharp against his spine. He realizes that this is real. He's being escorted to his doom and there's nothing he can do about it.

Akira is taken to the lowest level of the castle where water gushes from the ceiling. The spray is cool on his face, sending chills down his spine. Forced to his knees, a sword tilts his chin up, the tip a breadth away from his throat. Akira seethes with anger, watching the water shine in the dim light. 

"You, there. You're the little _shit_ who interrupted my time with Ann-chan." Kamoshida bellows, his face twisted into a snarl. 

Akira glowered up at him, saying nothing. A swift kick is delivered straight to his gut, and he coughs. Kamoshida waves a hand, his yellow eyes burning into Akira. 

"Kill him. The pathetic worm doesn't realize how love works." He laughs cruelly. 

"That's not love." He calls out, the sword drawing a red line down his neck. 

Kamoshida raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Akira shrugged. "You're calling it love, but you're _using_ Takamaki-san. She doesn't want to touch you, so just leave her be." 

Sakamoto and Akechi run in but are quickly cornered by guards. Kamoshida guffaws, his face warping into a disgusting look. "Look who it is! The pathetic loser of the track team's leftovers and the cute, little Student Council President. Come to pick up your new dog?" 

He strikes Akira across the face, laughing maniacally. Akira's fists clench. Sakamoto moves to step in, a lead pipe in his hands. Akechi stops him, pointing at the swords pressing into their backs. 

"Sit back, and watch this little shit get executed! Maybe I'll even let you guys have a head start after him." 

Akira spits blood. "Will you shut up already? You're giving me such a headache." 

Fire runs through his veins, and he bats the sword away, getting to his feet. The guard in gold armor gasps. Akira looks up at Kamoshida through his fringe, his eyes cold. 

"What?" His voice drips with venom as Akira stands. 

"I said, _shut up_." He snaps, clenching his fists. He growls, and his fingernails sink into his hands, carving little moons into his flesh. 

Kamoshida hisses, but Akira pays him no mind. 

"I don't even know you, but I'm already so pissed off. You keep telling everyone what to do like you're important, but you're just a toddler throwing a temper tantrum." 

Kamoshida's eyes bulge in his head, and Akira feels a wind start to pick up around him. 

"I've had it up to here with everyone telling me what to do. First those two, now you. I'm fucking sick of it!" He yells, the sword at his neck clattering to the floor. 

Akira feels a sharp pain stab him through the temples, throbbing like a heart on fire. He falls to his knees, watching his face contort in pain in his reflection on the water. 

_Well? Will you continue to fall in line?_

A voice calls out in his head, reverberating like a stone thrown around a greenhouse. Akira screams in pain, digging his fingers into the floor. 

_Or will you rebel? What would he have wanted for you? To writhe like a worm, or to rise from the ashes to be reborn?_

His face swam around Akira's mind, his smile gently coaxing the flames to life. A mask formed on his face, searing into his skin. He wrapped his hand around it, trying to pull it off. Letting out another scream of pain, he tossed it aside, the blood staining the water. 

_There, that's much better, no? Call my name and release me from the blaze!_

"Come, Arséne!" He roared, feeling the rush of feathers sharper than cut diamonds sail past his hands. The guards collapsed, peppered with iron feathers. 

Sakamoto and Akechi looked on, the blonde's face twisted into a look of wonder. Akechi simply watched as Akira took out the guards, the tails of his black jacket flapping behind him as he slashed through knights with ease. Kamoshida fled the scene, a golden paladin whisking him away. 

Huffing and panting, the dark-haired boy fell to his knees, slamming his knife into the floor. Sakamoto hoisted him up, slinging his arm over his shoulder.

"Come on, buddy, let's get you out of here." 

Akira stares at his glass of water, feeling the exhaustion sink deep into his bones. 

"So, what did you call them again? Personas?" He asks wearily, ruffling his hair. Akechi nodded. 

"That's right. Did you call yours Arséne?" He questions, pushing his dish of fries to Sakamoto. The blonde scarfs them up. 

Akira agrees. "That's his name. Do you have them?" 

Sakamoto nods vigorously, his mouth full of fries. "Uh-huh! Mine'sh called Capfton Kmidd!"

Akira blinks. "I'm sorry, what?" 

Akechi wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Ryuji, _please_. Finish your mouthful before you speak. It's uncouth." He pinches his brow, sighing deeply as the blonde swallows his fries. 

"Mine's called Captain Kidd. Goro's got two!" He says, grinning like a madman. Akira raises an eyebrow. 

"Two? Are you usually only allowed one?" He inquires, leaning closer. Akechi shrugs noncommittally. 

"We don't know very much about this world. The extent of our knowledge is that we can potentially steal the desires of the owner of the Palace. We do so by stealing the treasure, the material form of the root of their motives. I found this out by conferring with the leading cognitive psientist, Isshiki Wakaba." 

Akira nods slowly. "Okay, I think I get it. You basically take away their ambition in the form of an object?" 

The pair nod. Akechi examines his nails. "You catch on quick. How does detective work sound to you?" 

Sakamoto groans. Akira shrugs. "Are you in the business yourself, senpai?" 

"He doesn't shut up about it. He's on fuckin' TV half the time." The blonde gripes, sinking down into the diner chair. 

The brown-haired boy frowns, then turns his attention back to Akira. "Care to help me out every now and then? I knew there was something special about you from the moment I met you." He flashes a television worthy smile while Sakamoto moans in agony. 

"Sure, why not?" Akira says. The dazzling smile falls, and Akechi gives him a subtle, real smile. It borders on a smirk, though. They exchange contact details. Sakamoto gives him his number scrawled hastily on a napkin. 

He yawns, running a hand through his dark curls. "Damn, I'm exhausted. Thanks, I guess. I'll see you tomorrow, Akechi-senpai, Sakamoto-kun." 

Sakamoto gives him a wave, slinging his arm over Akechi's shoulders. "See ya, dude!" 

Pushing his arm off, Akechi gives Akira a small wave. "I'll see you in the morning, Kurusu-kun." 

Akira barely has time to talk to Sakura before he slinks up the stairs, weary to the bone. He passes out for a few hours before he's woken up for dinner. He trudges down the stairs, his uniform crumpled and disheveled, yawning. A short girl in an unfamiliar uniform sits at the table, her ginger hair tied in a messy updo. She turns, then gives him a two-fingered salute. 

"Yo. You're the guy Sojiro took in, huh?" She says, shoveling curry into her mouth. "You're not what I expected you to look like." 

He gives her a smile, then takes a seat across from her. "I'm Kurusu Akira. Nice to meet you." 

She nods, then swallows her mouthful. "Sakura Futaba. I'm Sojiro's daughter. Sort of." 

Sakura swoops in, placing a plate of curry in front of him. He seems to be humming lightly, a small smile on his face. The ginger-haired Sakura leans across the table. 

"He's happy 'cause it's his week. He and my mom both got 50/50 custody, so I'm spending the week here. Not 'here' here, but at his house." She grins conspiratorially, then leans back, tucking her knees under her chin. 

Akira nods then glances back at the man behind the bar. It's a rather drastic change from the man who drove him to Shujin in silence. 

"You kids go ahead and eat, I've already eaten." He says, putting the leftovers in the fridge. "I'm headed out tonight, so no fires, okay?" 

The girl finishes her plate and leans back, tucking her arms behind her head. "Got a hot date?" She teases, smirking like a cat. 

Sakura frowns but laughs nonetheless. "None of your business, missy." 

He shrugs his jacket on and tips his hat in a farewell. "I'll be back before midnight. Don't be afraid to call if you need anything." 

Akira watches as he heads out into the dark streets of Yongen. The girl leans on the table, balancing her knees on the back of the sofa. "So... What's Shujin's situation?" 

Akira blinks. "What do you mean?" 

She raises her eyebrows. "You don't know? Damn, well, you'll find out tomorrow." 

She rolls off of the table, then hops onto the floor, landing with both feet on the floor. She rolls her neck, a few cracks sounding in her bones. Akira blinks again. 

"Wanna watch a show? I can't _wait_ to get to know my new foster brother." She grins, and Akira smiles. 

"Sure." 

Somehow, Akira finds himself watching the third season of some American show about a mother and her daughter with a close relationship. Futaba, as he had gotten to know her, was a firm advocate for one of the main character's boyfriends as the objectively best one. 

"He literally is the perfect guy! Look at him! He's hot, he reads, he's kind of a bad boy, and he pushes her to be the best she can be!"

Akira nods then points at the screen. "Add having a good butt to the list." 

Futaba grins. "I knew I'd like you! You see the most important things in life." 

Akira nods sagely. "Good butts." 

"Exactly." Futaba agrees, then shoves a handful of popcorn in her mouth. "So, speaking of boyfriends, you're gay, right?" 

Akira chokes on his drink, thumping himself on the chest. "I'm sorry, what?" 

Futaba's eyes are trained on the screen. "I'm gay, myself. I can appreciate beauty like Jess Mariano, though." 

Akira stared at her, then at the screen. "Well, you're not wrong. I'm not exactly attracted to girls." 

She bumps her elbow into his arm playfully, shooting him a kind smile. "Hey, it's okay if you haven't figured it out yet. D'you have a boyfriend?" 

Akira's eyes cloud over, and he gives her a dreamy smile. "I used to." 

"What was his name?" She says, turning down the volume on her laptop. 

"Naoya. We met a few years ago." He says, picking at a thread on his white turtleneck. Futaba nods, pressing him to go on. 

"He came from the city. I lived in Inaba at the time, and he had recently moved there." 

"What was he like?" She asks softly, placing her popcorn down. 

Akira laughs, almost bitterly. "He was beautiful. His smile was perfect, slightly crooked when he laughed. He used to let me try on all of his clothes. He had this ear piercing, and whenever anyone asked about it he would happily tell you he did it himself. He'd never let you forget that." 

Akira wipes the tears from his eyes. Futaba puts a hand on his shoulder, then gives him a hug. 

"How did you lose him?" She says, her voice small. He sniffs. 

"He died."

She stiffens. "Oh." 

Akira nods. "Yeah." 

When Akira falls asleep, he feels like he falls through space, the rattle of chains humming in his eardrums. He startles himself awake, sitting up. His wrists are heavy, metal chafing against the sensitive skin. Glancing down through the gloom, he sees that his arms are shackled together and that he's wearing ratty prison wear. He gets up, looking to his left. Reaching to grasp the bar, he glances around the room. It has a high ceiling, and faint singing reverberates around the chamber. A desk rests in the middle, other, empty cells circling it. Akira contemplates calling out for help but the sound dies in his throat when he sees him. 

Dressed all in blue, his hair white as bone, Naoya looks back at him through golden eyes. 

"Hey, love." He says, smiling gently. 

Tears well up in Akira's eyes, and he reaches through the bars to touch him, but he's just inches away from Akira's fingertips. 

" _Naoya_ , I-"

"I know, love, this is a lot to take in. You're in the Velvet Room now, my master awaits your attention." He reassures Akira, then gestures to the desk and chair in the middle of the room. 

An old man with a long nose sits, scratching at a piece of paper with a long feathered quill. He places it back in its inkwell and folds his hands under his chin. Speaking with a deep, gravelly baritone, he nods. 

"Hello, Trickster. I see you have awakened to your full potential. My name is Igor, and I am the master of the Velvet Room." 

Akira wants to scream. He shouldn't be in chains, he should be in Naoya's arms, his hands in his hair, he shouldn't be so _alone_ when he's _right_ in front of him. 

"This may be a lot to take in. Not only have you awakened to the power of your Persona, but you have been entered into your rehabilitation so soon. Should you continue at this rate, you will most certainly avoid the coming ruin." 

Naoya nods, his silver hair glinting like coins in the light. "I'm so proud of you, love." 

A gloved hand reaches through the bars and strokes the side of his face. Akira leans into it, and it takes everything in him to keep himself from falling to the floor. 

"Trickster, the cards have been shuffled. Ths game is new. There are new players, and old players have been taken from the board. You must rely on your bonds to defeat the coming ruin. The Velvet Room is yours to use."

Igor says. He nods to Naoya, who presses a kiss to his forehead. 

"Your Warden has bestowed on you a gift. Use it well." The man says, then looks up as a bell rings in the distance. 

"The moonlight wanes, Trickster. You must wake up." 

Akira looks back to Naoya, who gives him an enigmatic smile. "You will see soon enough, love. You've come so far, and I am so proud of you." 

Everything starts to fade, the lights dimming, the bell's sound slowly dwindling, and Akira reaches a hand out, desperate to stay. 

"Wait, Naoya, I-"

"Goodnight, my Trickster." 

Akira jolts awake, staring at his hands. The iron shackles are gone, but he can see where they chafed. Everything feels fuzzy and light, and Akira staggers down the stairs into the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, his vision calibrates until he can sense something _else_. 

_"Your Warden has bestowed upon you a gift. Use it well."_

Akira closes his eyes, then looks. He sees everything in clearer, more focused light. There is a slight ringing in his ears, but everything is clear. He can hear his heartbeat, he can hear the heartbeat of the mouse in the wall. He should probably tell Sakura about that. 

Akira opens his eyes again. A rush of feeling comes back to him, and he reels for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the light again. 

He trudges back upstairs to get dressed, his skin buzzing from where Naoya had kissed him. If it really _was_ Naoya. Naoya had dark violet eyes and dark black hair, not golden eyes and white hair. He'll have more time to question reality on the train. For now, he had to get to school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will nOT debate who rory's best boyfriend was, it's obviously jess. yeah, sure, dean built her a car, but he's a whiny little bitchbaby who takes everything out on rory.  
> fuck you dean.  
> fuck you and your shiny car.


	3. deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira discovers what he missed yesterday. After making a deal with Akechi and Sakamoto, he finds himself thinking he's being watched.  
> Akechi talks with Akira.

The school is abuzz with panic and terror. Akira walks quickly, keeping his head down. Of course, the only problem with keeping one's head down is that one runs into other people very easily. 

He knocks Akechi to the floor, then apologizes. "Ah, Senpai, I'm so sorry."

Akechi raises an eyebrow at the hand Akira has offered him. "We really must stop meeting like this, Kurusu-kouhai."

Akira is shocked at the term. "I see you're taking your role as my Senpai seriously, then?" He jokes nervously. 

"Of course I am, _Kouhai_." He jokes back but then straightens his blazer. 

Looking around, Akira notices that there's something odd about how everyone has positioned themselves as far away from the P.E. Faculty office as possible. 

Sakamoto bounds up to Akira, then looks around, seemingly worried. "What's happenin'?"

Akechi motions for Sakamoto to stay quiet. 

"Kurusu, with me." He mutters, yanking him forward. 

The brown-haired boy straightens his posture, then strides forward, Akira trailing behind him. He opens the door to the P.E. Faculty office, and positions himself so only Akira and himself can see inside. They both go very pale, then turn around.

Lying on the floor is Kamoshida, surrounded in a pool of his own blood and thick, black ooze. His veins are dark in comparison to his pale skin, and his eyes are rolled so far back into his head that the veins have been exposed. His tongue, fat, black and swollen, is lolling out of his mouth. There are black lines of dried blood down the sides of his face, and judging by the way his fingernails are bloodstained, he did them himself. 

Akechi flips out his phone, dialing a number as he steadies Akira against his body. Akira's knees are about to give out, and he's trembling. He can't tear his eyes from the corpse, staring through the window in the door. 

"Shirogane? This is Akechi, there's a body at Shujin Academy. I need the forensics team, crowd control, and Niijima Sae. Can you do that for me?"

Akira thinks he's going to pass out. 

"What do you mean she's not in?" 

Akechi sighs, then glances down at Akira as he grips his sleeve. 

"Can _you_ get down here, then?"

Kamoshida twitches, the pool of dark liquid rippling. 

"Thank you, you're a _hero_ , Shirogane."

One girl sneaks a look and screams. Her friends do the same.

"Right. I'll handle the situation here for the time being." 

Akechi hangs up, but the halls are in chaos. People are screaming, teachers are trying and failing to keep things under control. Akechi pulls Akira up from where he's slumped against the wall. 

"Kurusu, look at me. I need you to stay focused on keeping yourself awake, can you do that for me?" He grips Akira's face gently, his crimson eyes sharp. Akira nods. Akechi knows what he's doing, Akira is sure of it. 

"'Kechi-senpai?" Akira's words are slightly slurred. 

"Yes?" 

"Dr. Takemi. She's working on this right now." He tries to articulate his words as much as possible, but the smell of dead meat has started to leak under the door, and his tongue feels like it's covered in cotton.

Akechi's face brightens. "Yes, you're correct. I'll tell Shirogane to bring her down." He flicks through his phone, then stops. "How did you know this was a mental shutdown?" 

He grins lopsidedly, then taps the side of his head. "I can _see_." 

Akira promptly passes out, falling into Akechi's outstretched arms. 

_The Warden fans the cards out and taps one. It glows, rising into the air. The Magician slowly begins to tear itself into pieces, shimmering like embers._

_"Oh, what a shame." The Warden chimes without sympathy._

_The ashes of the Magician rest in a small pile, then blow off the table. He hums lightly, brushing specks of dust from his white gloves. His earring glints like a concealed blade, and his smile is sharp. The Devil leaps into his fingers, and he presses a kiss to the card._

_"And this one is mine? How sweet, love, you shouldn't have." He fawns, batting a hand playfully at the cell._

_The card is pleasantly warm in his hand, shivering with excitement. The Warden runs his canine along the side of the card, his eyes heavy-lidded._

_"If you insist, my love." He purrs._

When Akira comes to, he's lying in a booth inside Leblanc. The exposed ceiling beams stare down at him, then a face emerges in the space above his. 

"He's awake!" Sakamoto says, talking to someone who Akira can't see. 

Sakura pulls him up, offering him a glass of water. Akechi and Sakamoto are sitting in the booth as well. Futaba is perched at the bar, chewing her fingernails. Akira blinks groggily, then takes a sip of the water. 

"How long was I out for?" He asks, his throat scratchy. 

Akechi looks at his watch. "Two hours and a half. I've just gotten here, they've started an investigation at the school." 

Sakamoto looked down at his sneakers, twiddling his thumbs. "We, uh, we missed a lot. A girl, Suzui Shiho, killed herself yesterday. We were... out." 

Akira swallows. The name 'Shiho' rang a bell in the back of his mind. Akechi whispered something to Sakura, who tapped Futaba, and left the café. 

Now alone, the two boys focused their attention on Akira. Akechi's scarlet eyes glimmered in the light, boring into Akira's. 

Sakamoto cleared his throat. "Someone used the other world to kill him. They killed his Shadow." 

"His Shadow was the cognitive version of himself. Whoever else used the Metaverse killed his consciousness." Akechi explained, pointing at the table to maintain his point. 

Akira nodded, taking another sip of his water to remove the chalkiness from his mouth. "You want to stop this killer, don't you?"

Akechi's face relaxed in shock, while Sakamoto's jaw hit the floor. 

"Yeah, spot on." The blonde said, rubbing the back of his neck. Akechi cleared his throat. 

"I want to protect the public from this killer. I refuse to change someone's heart purely because they're a bad person. We are doing this to defend people's lives. No matter what someone has done, they don't deserve to die like that." 

The black-haired boy nodded. "Seems fair. Do we have any idea who might have killed Kamoshida?" 

Sakamoto sucks a breath between his teeth and shakes his head. "Nah, but we have an idea of who they might target next, judgin' from Goro's... What's the word you used?" 

"Speculations," He finished, adjusting his cuffs, "They're trying to strike fear into Tokyo. They're going to be going after someone famous next. I think it might be Madarame Ichiryusai, who has allegedly been abusing his students, or Kaneshiro Junya, a mafia boss who's been extorting teenagers through drug deals."

Akira whistled low. "Huh. That's pretty accurate for 'speculation'. What makes you so sure?" 

Akechi smirked. "The killer has been working like this for _years_. I've been cooperating with Shirogane Naoto, who's been tailing them on a hunch. His notes are deemed as unofficial after he was told to drop the case, but he's been working with Isshiki Wakaba for a year or two. She's the mother of all cognitive psience research. The woman is a _legend_." 

Sakamoto yawns. "Ok, nerd, get to the point." 

Akechi scowls and regains his composure. "The point _is_ , with all due respect to Ryuji, we need your help. Your Persona is strong. You may even have more potential than we realize." 

They stare earnestly at him, nervous for his next words. Akira swallows then sets his glass down.

"I'll do it. But I have one question." He says. Akechi blinks expectantly. 

"Shoot." Sakamoto leans back, crossing one leg over another. 

Akira leans in, a puzzled look on his face. "Have either of you been seeing a prison in your dreams?" 

Sakamoto gives him a weird look. Nudging Akechi, he turns to look at his friend's face. The brown-haired boy is pale, tapping his fingers furiously on the table. 

"You're the other one, then. The other 'Trickster'." He confirms, his voice bordering on a murmur. Akira raises an eyebrow. 

"So you've seen it? Has the boy in blue said anything to you about who he is?" Akira pleads, almost desperate. The brown-haired boy shakes his head in confusion. Akira can practically see the cogs working in his head, but Akechi doesn't give him the answer he wants. 

"What 'boy in blue'?" 

Akira droops in his seat but shakes himself out of it. He can mope later, he has a deal to make. He offers his hands to Akechi and Sakamoto. 

"I'll be happy to help in any way I can." He promises earnestly. 

Sakamoto grins, then claps him on the arm affectionately. "Great! Can I call you Akira?" 

He nods. Akechi clears his throat. "I appreciate your help. I'll give you a call when something comes up at the office. Thank you, Kurusu-kouhai." 

_Gloved hands shuffle a deck of cards, deftly flicking them through the dealer's fingers. The Warden places two cards on the table, resting just below a third._

_"The Lovers and The Chariot." He murmurs, smiling softly. He picks up the card further away from him and turns it over in the light. "The Justice. No longer needed here, I suppose."_

_He places it somewhere back in the deck, then focuses on the two cards on the table. The Warden looks up, then smiles wider at the card hovering in the air._

_"Oh, love, your journey has just begun."_

_He taps the card, and it spins where it's suspended in the air. The Fool smiles back at him, blissfully unaware._

Akira walks Ryuji and Akechi to the station, then sees them off on the correct train. He watches as the skies start to darken, the evening drawing in closer. Akira walks home from the station, wondering how many dead bodies he'll have to see until he finds the killer. 

Is he qualified for this? Why did he even agree in the first place? 

There's something about Akechi he can't quite place his finger on. He finds it very hard to say no to him. Maybe he's just one of those people. After all, Akechi does work in television. 

He gives the boy a quick internet search and is rather surprised at the number of interviews he's been in. Akira frowns. He's fairly certain that one of the edits posted on a fangirl's social media page contains a few pictures of Akechi's butt in cycling shorts. 

Futaba peers over his shoulder. "Now, _that's_ a good butt."

Akira jumps a few inches out of his skin, nearly dropping his phone. Futaba cackles but pats him on the arm sympathetically. "Sorry 'bout that. Didn't mean to give you a heart attack." 

"You did, and you know it." He grumbles, ruffling her hair. She screeches. 

"No! I just brushed it!" 

Akira glances back down at the phone screen. Futaba's right, that _is_ a good butt. He bites his lip, absentmindedly staring off into space. Even though it's been a year, he feels wrong for looking at the photo. Naoya wasn't there anymore. At least, not in his waking day-to-day life. 

Futaba waves a hand in front of his face. "Hey, doofus. Sojiro wants to talk to you." 

Sakura was leaning against the bar, his newspaper in his hand. Akira closes the café door behind him, the bell ringing out in the pleasant quietness of the café. Sakura looks up, then folds his newspaper up. 

"Hey, there. Get an apron on, and come get behind the bar. I'm going to teach you something." He says, gesturing to the door of the bathroom. Akira opens it, then picks an apron off of the rack. He ties the apron around his waist, then joins Sakura behind the bar. The man is comparing two jars of coffee beans and the coffee machines are ready to start. 

"I'm going to teach you how to make the perfect cup of coffee. In return, you can help out here, once in a while." Sakura says, placing a jar back on the shelf and setting the chosen one down on the bar. Akira nods. He always did like coffee. 

Coffee training with Sojiro is hard work. It is grueling, and it costs Akira hours to perfect his cup. Sojiro lifts the mug to his mouth, takes a sip, and closes his eyes. Nodding slowly, he sets the mug back down, a pleased smile on his face.

"You've done good, kid. Go on, get some sleep. I'll clean all this up." He says, shooing Akira up the stairs. 

He dreams of nothing. Dark, empty, silence. There are no boys with silver hair and saffron eyes, dressed all in blue. It is soundless and suffocating. When Akira wakes up, the window is open, cold air pouring over his searing hot skin. He gets out of bed, pulls on his uniform. It's Thursday, and he skulks down the stairs, pulling his bag from the table by the stairs. Futaba is sitting at the bar, furiously punching buttons into her gaming console. A piece of toast is in her mouth. Sojiro playfully swats her head with his newspaper. 

"Come on, you're going to be late. I don't want you getting detention two days in a row." He chuckles. Futaba groans, but slides the machine into her sweater pocket. Her bag hangs from one of her shoulders, full of hefty books. She shoots him a grin.

"Hey, sleeping beauty awakens. What are you doing in your uniform?" 

Akira frowns. "What do you mean?" 

"School's been closed off for a few days for you," Sojiro says, jabbing his thumb to the television screen. 

A news anchor is reading from their papers. Something about mental shutdowns and corpses found in schools. Images of Kamoshida twitching on the floor instantly put him off of the curry placed in front of him. Akira places his bag down and wraps the plate in cling film. 

"So they've closed off Shujin?" He asks. Sojiro nods. "That was quick." 

He places the plate in the fridge, then pulls his phone out. Akechi has sent him a few texts. Futaba swings out the door, trailing bread crumbs. Sojiro gets to wiping the bar down. 

"Go get changed. I'm sure your friends want to do something with you." He smiles, then tosses the rag into the sink. 

The phone rings as Akira's pulling his turtle neck off. He answers it, propping the phone against his bare shoulder. 

"Hello?" 

Akechi's voice is tinny from the other side of the line. "Good morning. I've sent you a location. Ryuji and I will wait there, so be punctual."

Akira stutters. "Hold on, where am I meeting you?" 

"Central Street. You can't miss Ryuji, he's loud, blonde, and wearing purple." He sighs, then clicks his tongue. "What is that rustling?" 

Akira readjusts the phone as he pulls his jeans up. "I'm getting changed. I didn't see the news before I put my uniform on." 

"A-Ah. I'll leave you to it, then." Akechi promptly hangs up. 

Akira sets the phone down on the desk, then pulls a loose knitted sweater over his head. The neckline has been stretched, but Akira doesn't care. He's had this sweater for years, he's not going to throw it out now. Akechi has sent him an address, and the route on the train, it's only a matter of getting there in time. 

Akira gets the train, acutely aware of a feeling nibbling the back of his mind. Looking around, he can't find anything of interest. His fingers wrap around the train's pole, then lets his eyes flutter closed. 

There is a boy, about his age, staring daggers into his back. Akira focuses, and he can hear the boy's heartbeat. It's quickened slightly, fluttering like a rabbit's. Akira can't quite see his face, but he can tell the boy is tall. He opens his eyes, and sleepily tousles his hair. If the boy wants to stare, Akira can't stop him. 

As he gets off the train, he notices how the boy moves to get off as well, but stops himself. Akira tosses a haphazard look over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. The boy's face pales, and he opens his mouth, but the door closes. The train tears off, leaving Akira on the platform. He hums in thought, then ascends the stairs. 

Central Street is a buzz of color and noise, people bustling down the street at different paces. Akira sucks in a breath and acts like he belongs, striding across the road to where Akechi and Ryuji said they'd meet him. 

They're standing by an alley, Ryuji teasing Akechi about something trivial, by the looks of it. 

"Goro, I will literally give you any of my shirts. I _beg_ you, never wear the goddamn sweater vest again." Ryuji is laughing but has a genuine concern in his eyes. Akechi sniffs. 

"I would rather die than wear one of your shirts, Ryuji." He says, protectively crossing his arms over his argyle sweater vest. 

"Hey! My shirts are fuckin' fantastic, you jerk." He grumbles, batting Akechi on the arm. 

The brown-haired boy's eyes flash, and he steps on Ryuji's foot. The blonde's mouth opens as if he's about to scream. Akechi smiles coyly at Akira as he walks over. 

"Good morning, Kouhai. I trust you slept well?" He says, smirking like a fox as Ryuji silently seethes. "Ryuji and I were just having a friendly debate. He says my choice of clothing makes me, and I quote, 'look like a grandpa'. Do you agree?" 

Ryuji mouths the word "Yes", nodding vigorously. Akira shrugs noncommittally. 

"Depends on which grandpa you're talking about." He says, his voice lilting playfully. Akechi's eyes narrow. Ryuji notices it too. 

"Bro, you seem... Different." Ryuji says, brushing the back of his hair with his hand. Akechi nods. 

"Yes, I can't quite put my finger on it, but you seem... More confident," He nods, then shifts his weight onto his other leg, "I like it. I like you. We'll get along, I'm sure." 

Akira blinks. Ryuji nudges him as the older boy trails ahead, gesturing for them to come with. "Goro's a bit blunt. It's good that he likes you, though. He'd prolly kick your knees in if he didn't." 

Ryuji laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Akira nods. "He's quite an interesting individual. How long have you two known each other?"

"Since we were five. He's basically family." Ryuji yawns, scratching his ear. 

Akechi turns on his heel. "Kurusu, what do you know about guns?" 

Akira is taken aback. A strange question to be pulled out of the blue. "Not a lot. Why?" 

Ryuji opens the door to a shady looking store. Guns of all kinds are lining the walls, and cabinets full of knives, swords, brass knuckles adorn the lower walls as well. A tough-looking man is sitting behind the counter, his feet propped up on the glass. A lollipop stick is hanging from his mouth. 

"Good morning, Munechan!" Akechi sings, leaning back on the counter, and looking down at the shop's owner over his shoulder. 

'Munechan' says nothing, he only moves his lollipop stick from the left side of his mouth to the right. Akechi raises an eyebrow, looking smug. 

"Business seems to be a bit slow today, Munechan. Maybe it's because you look _so_ grumpy." Akechi grins, poking the man's cheek. 

'Munechan' slides his boots off of the counter, trudging off into the back. Akechi gives Akira and Ryuji a winning smile, looking as pleased as the cat who got the cream. The shop's owner comes back in, placing a briefcase on the counter. Akechi turns to lean on his elbows, flicking open the latch on the briefcase. The lid opens, and Akechi stands up straight, the cutesy façade vanishing. 

"Munehisa, you legend," Akechi says in awe, picking up an elegant looking pistol. Ryuji nods in a hello, then joins Akechi by the briefcase. He picks up a hefty shotgun, then looks down the barrel. 

"Not bad, Gecko." Ryuji grins. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know I'm good," The man cracks his knuckles, then nods to Akira, "Who's the fluffy one?" 

Akechi aims the pistol, then weighs it in his hand. "Kurusu Akira. Kurusu-kouhai, this is Iwai Munehisa. He helps the TDP with all of our weapons. But these..."

Akechi points one at Akira, smirking slightly. Akira freezes, his chest seizing up with fear. 

"... Are fake." He finishes, spinning it around on his finger so the grip was facing Akira. He nods for him to take it. 

It's surprisingly heavy, with a nice feel to it. It feels comfortable in Akira's hand, not too bulky, but with a good weight to it. 

Iwai nods at him, opening another case full of melee weapons. "Which one's he?" 

Akechi places a hand under his chin in thought, then glances at the dark-haired boy. Ryuji has placed the shotgun down and is now peering over his friend's shoulder. Akira raises an eyebrow, coming over. 

The older boy points to a dagger, then digs around his pocket for his wallet. Iwai pulls out a small case, then opens it. The dagger nestles in the case like a pearl in a clamshell. Akechi trades it for a bundle of notes, then hands it to Akira.

"Don't go swinging it around in public, okay kid? I may be cozy with _this_ detective, but I don't want the cops in here." Iwai grumbles, flicking through a magazine. 

Akechi takes the briefcase off of the counter, then gives Iwai a small parcel. "Pleasure doing business with you, Munechan. Tell Kaoru I said hello." 

Ryuji waves goodbye as he boards the train, sticking his tongue out at Akechi one last time. The brown-haired boy scowls, but Akira can tell it's in good fun. He glances at his watch, then nods to the diner. 

"Come. Let's sit down." He says. Akira gives him a small smile. 

The diner is fairly quiet, a few students studying in the corner. Akechi pulls his hair up into a ponytail, holding the hair tie between his teeth. The tie snaps around his hair, then he leans forward, propping his elbow on the table. 

"So, Kurusu-kouhai, tell me about yourself. I keep calling you intriguing, but it's mostly off of a hunch. Humor me?" He asks, crimson eyes unreadable. 

Akira traces a circle in the wood of the table. "What do you want to know? I'm afraid I'm pretty boring."

Akechi laughs, but his eyes are glittering and cold, like ice. "Don't lie to me, Kurusu. You seem very interesting to me. Tell me about where you're from." 

Akira suddenly feels very watched. Akechi doesn't back down, composed and elegant as he drums his fingers on the table. His gaze reminds Akira of Naoya so much, it almost hurts. He clears his throat, stopping the circling motion he's making with his index finger. 

"You've probably not heard of it. Inaba?" 

Akechi nods. "I've been. A colleague of mine is from there." 

"Oh? I'm sure they'll tell you it's really quite boring. The most we have going is the ocean, but it's often too rainy for some people to enjoy the beach." 

"'Some people'? I take it you found it enjoyable nonetheless?" Akechi asks, sharp as ever. Akira laughs softly. 

"You really are a detective," He says, then looks up at him, "If you're so invested in finding out if I meet your expectations, why not make a guess?" 

The brown-haired boy raises an eyebrow, and sits up, laughing quietly. "Alright. Let me see..."

He makes a show out of thinking, examining Akira's face like he's a piece of evidence at a crime scene. After a few minutes of judgemental humming, Akechi sits back, his arms crossed over his chest. 

"You're smarter than you let on, most likely because you want to keep your head low. Judging from your awakening, you have a strong sense of right and wrong and can have a nasty temper at times." 

Akira huffs out a short laugh. Akechi continues.

"Superficially, you're either a heartbreaker or you've been with a long-term partner for a while. You have a certain style that reminds me of the protagonist in a harem anime. If you tried hard enough, you could go into modeling. Might want to invest in a hairbrush though." 

"You watch a lot of those harem anime shows?" Akira teases. Akechi wrinkles his nose. 

"Don't be ridiculous. But _that_ shows me you have a sense of humor. I was worried you were a doormat when I first met you, you know. That awakening did wonders for your posture." He laughs. 

Akira nods slowly. "Not bad. About 80% correct, I'd say. They should promote you." 

They go quiet for a moment, and Akechi frowns. "Kurusu, may I talk to you about something?" 

Akira nods. "Sure. I'm listening." 

"You've heard the rumors, right? About me. They all started when I caught the eye of Kamoshida. It turns out he's not limited to girls, and I seemed to be the most prominent evidence of that." He murmurs, his knuckles whitening. 

"He tried to get me to... Have _relations_ with him. I refused, of course, but everyone listens to the adult in those kinds of situations. My father handled it outside of the school, but there's nothing he can do to stifle a little rumor in a high school."

Akira hums. "I'm so sorry." 

"I don't want your pity." Akechi snaps, then softens. "Sorry. That was uncalled for." 

"It's fine. You're going through a lot. Your father must be important if he can handle things like that." Akira says, leaning his face on his hand. 

Akechi nodded. "He's a politician. Absolute bastard. Acknowledged me, his bastard son, purely for the publicity." 

He snarls, then shakes his head. Akira blinked, averting his eyes. "He does sound like a prick."

Akechi laughs ruefully. "He is. I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you all of this. I barely know you, and yet I feel as if I could talk to you for hours." 

Akira smiles. "Don't apologize. I have a lot of free time, so any time you want to chat, I'll probably be there." 

Akechi smiles, small but sincere. "Thank you, Kurusu." 

"Just call me Akira." He says, ruffling his hair. 

"Alright, Akira. Feel free to call me Goro. You already know my deepest, darkest secrets after all." He laughs, but there's a morbid undertone to the joke. 

The diner slowly grows quieter and darker, until the waitress asks them to leave. Akira wonders if Goro really told him all there was to him. Naoya would have gotten along with him. They were similar in their complexity. There was a familiarity in their sharpness. 

Akira liked him. 


	4. negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Futaba offers a proposal to her new, sort of step-brother. Akira confronts his stalker.

Futaba waits at the bar, her headphones hanging around her neck. She types into her computer, trying to stall time. Akira's due back any minute, and she has to get him to listen. 

_It's alright, little one. He will listen, he has no choice._

The Necronomicon is restless, their gears twisting like layers of a Rubix Cube. The only difference is that Futaba can't solve her Persona in a matter of seconds with her eyes closed. She hits the enter button, hoping that her computer doesn't crash. She'll have to beg her mom for more tech if she overheats this one. 

The bell rings, and in comes Akira, looking slightly dazed. He smiles, pulling out his earphones. 

"Hey. What are you doing up? It's late." He says softly, slipping his boots off. Futaba exhales. The Necronomicon reassures her through their constant whirring, clicking three times. 

"Sit down for a sec." She says, taking her glasses off. Akira frowns but complies.

"Okay, don't freak out, but I bugged the café and your phone." She starts. He opens his mouth, but she shushes him. "Calm down, I'm not even finished. I know that you, the blonde, and that boy with the bad haircut all have Personas." 

Akira's face pales, and his slumps in his seat. Futaba reaches out, but he just leans his head on his hand. "Go on. There's more, isn't there?" 

She bites her lip. "I want to help you." 

"No. Absolutely not. I don't even know if it's safe to have one, they might even stem from those things that attacked us." Akira rambles, looking up at her. She snorts. 

"Personas are definitely good for you. You've got confidence now, I can tell." She says, closing her laptop. He opens his mouth to argue, but she stops him. "Don't try to tell me how this works, I know _way_ more than you. My own Persona is literally the manifestation of human knowledge of the cosmos and all that has been!" 

Akira gapes at her. "You have a Persona?" 

"Mom used me as an example in her original essay. We worked on it together, I've had the Necronomicon for a few years now. She awakened it for me." 

"Your mom? Who exactly-" Akira starts. 

"Isshiki Wakaba. Your nerdy friend who needs a haircut mentioned her." She states proudly, crossing her arms. He slides down in his seat, his eyes blown wide. It would be funny if he wasn't so distressed. She sighs, rubbing her eyes. 

"I hate to play this card, but you guys need me. You all know nothing about the Metaverse, let alone the basics of this whole 'stealing hearts' thing. Have you even entered Mementos?" 

Akira says nothing. He knows they need her, he just doesn't want to put her in danger. It's almost sweet, but Futaba can handle herself. If anything, _she_ should be worried about _him_. Running a hand through his hair, Akira types something into his phone. 

"I'll bring it up with the others." He concedes, then looks up at her. 

Futaba is grinning wide enough to split her face in two. 

"I'm so glad! I'll do my best to help you guys out." She says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

Akira says goodnight, affectionately ruffling her hair. Futaba watches as he trudges up the stairs, yawning. She wonders what he did today, but doesn't have the heart to keep him up too late. Futaba will win over those dorks in the morning.

"Absolutely not. I will not allow a _first-year_ to be dragged into this." Goro says, placing his cup of coffee back down on the counter. Akira inhales sharply through his teeth.

"She knows more about this than we do. Her mother is literally the reason we know what we know." He says, refilling the cup. Goro thanks him quietly. 

Ryuji swirls his soda around in the glass, downing the last dregs of it. "Y'know, I think we should say yes. She says she could navigate the Metaverse for us." 

He shoots Futaba a smile, and she nods vigorously. "Let me at least give you a trial period." 

Akira gives Goro his best pleading look. Arséne whispers in his ear, crackling like embers.

_Go on, chéri, use your eyes._

Akira isn't sure how he feels about Arséne giving him advice on this front. He's been receiving pointers on how to carry himself recently, and as a result, he's been getting attention he's not used to. It almost feels like he's cheating, but it seems to work.

_If you have the material, why not make use of the tools, chéri?_

Goro averts his eyes, staring into the dark abyss of his coffee. " _Fine_. But only a trial period. We'll discuss your part in the group later." 

Futaba squeals then picks up her laptop, pulling Ryuji out of the café by his hood. The blonde laughs, then trips up, stumbling after her. Goro frowns, then glances upwards.

"You should be careful using that expression. You could get away with murder if you looked at the judge like that." He mutters, handing the mug to Akira. 

The black-haired boy washes the cup, blinking in confusion. Goro adjusts his gloves, waiting in the door for him. He hangs up the apron and accepts the door from the brown-haired detective, watching as the sky swells with rainclouds. 

"Do you have an umbrella?" Goro asks, eyes fixed on the sky. Akira nods, then grabs his umbrella from the rack. 

He opens it up, then offers it to Goro. "I hope you don't mind sharing." 

He shakes his head. "It's fine. I've done much worse things." Goro teases, ducking under the black umbrella. Akira sticks his tongue out and flicks his forehead. 

"I could easily take this away, you know." He grins, tipping the umbrella to the side. Fat, cold drops of rain hit Goro's exposed skin, and he shivers. 

Akira readjusts the umbrella, laughing. His friend grumbles, but presses close to him under the umbrella, the heat of his body permeating his thick coat. 

Mementos is full of energy. Akira feels it in the soles of his heeled boots, tingling through the scarlet leather of his gloves. 

"What the fuck is this?" He asks plainly, referring to the new clothes he seems to be wearing. Ryuji snorts. 

"Dude..." He doesn't finish, and Akira spares him. Futaba chuckles but has a helpful addition to the conversation. 

"This is basically what you think a rebel looks like. You look good." She says, adjusting her goggles. 

Goro taps his finger against the hilt of his sword. Taking a good look at him, Akira thinks he looks rather dashing. Naoya would have gotten a kick out of all of this. He wonders briefly if he's able to enter that strange dream-prison in the Metaverse. 

His thoughts are interrupted by the kiss of metal and stone, spectral chains scraping along the floor of the train station. He looks to his left and is surprised to see a cell door, sapphire mist flowing around it. Goro nods towards it, his hand gripping the blade at his hip. Naoya appears, beckoning the pair towards him. Akira bounds over, only to trip into a tunnel of chains and padded walls. 

Goro is in a cell a few feet away from him, looking around cautiously. Naoya steps into the light, shuffling a deck of cards. 

"Good afternoon, dear tricksters. I'm thrilled you're here." He says, smiling like a fox. Goro's nerves stand on end, and he feels there's something off about this boy. 

Akira is staring at him like he's the Holy Grail, dark eyes glazed over with a sad sort of longing. The white-haired boy stops his habitual shuffling, and bows low, revealing Igor at his desk. He languidly opens one golden eye, his ivory lashes fluttering. 

"How may we be of assistance?" He purrs, keeping his gaze on Akira. 

Goro speaks out, his chains clattering against the bars of his cell. "What are we doing here?" 

"I told you both that you were free to use the Velvet Room as you please. You may leave if it suits you." Igor says, outstretching a long-fingered hand. 

Akira snaps out of his stupor. "Naoya, what are you doing here?" 

The boy he addresses cocks his head to the side, confused. "My dear Trickster, I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else. I am the Warden, and I'm sorry to say I don't know who your 'Naoya' is." 

The black-haired boy's face falls, and he steps back, his hands falling from the bars. Goro bites the inside of his cheek, then turns to Igor. 

"Will you let use fuse the Personas we gather here?" He asks. The old man nods. 

Goro sighs, stepping back. "Akira, let's go. We have no reason to be here." 

The black-haired boy droops, opening his mouth to argue. He shoots Akira a sharp look, and his mouth closes. They leave the Velvet Room, the sound of rustling chains echoing through the cerulean expanse. 

"Uh, guys?" Ryuji says, waving a hand in their faces. Goro catches it and frowns. 

"Yes?" He answers sharply, raising an eyebrow. Futaba giggles then tugs on her Persona's tentacle. She floats up into her little spaceship, the green light flooding the station for a moment. 

"Alright, now that they've stopped staring off into space, let's get you guys calibrated. Follow me." She says, her voice layered in static and echoes. Akira rolls his shoulders, then follows the small, ever-revolving spaceship. 

Futaba takes them down a few floors, then introduces them to a gadget she seems to be incredibly proud of. 

"I call it the Metabus! It's super-duper hard to get around Mementos on foot, so I created this bad boy." She says, tapping the small toy car. Futaba tosses it in the air, then clicks her fingers. The toy car vanishes in a puff of smoke, revealing a lifesize minivan. Ryuji's jaw hits the floor. 

"Dude! This is so freakin' cool!" He yells, inspecting the van like an excited golden retriever. 

Goro raises an eyebrow. "Are you bribing us to let you join the team?"

Futaba grins. "Maybe. Is it working?" 

Goro hums noncommittally. He opens the door and starts the car, the engine purring like a cat. Akira gives the younger girl a thumbs up, then gets in the passenger seat. Ryuji follows, putting his feet up. 

"Okay, now let's get to it! What do you guys know about combat?" She asks, hovering beside the car. 

Goro turns a corner, frowning. "Not much, admittedly. It seems to come instinctively, but I know a bit about shooting from my job." 

Ryuji nods, leaning forward and crossing his arms under his chin. "Akira seems to know how to do some crazy lookin' backflips, though." 

"I do?" The dark-haired boy says, fiddling with his mask. He nods, beaming. 

"You don't remember? Bro, you were so cool! Even Goro got jealous." 

Goro rolls his eyes, then swivels around to face Ryuji. 

"I was _not_! It was impressive, yes, but I was not jealous." He snipes, the tips of his ears red. 

Ryuji's face pales as Goro keeps groaning in his ear. He taps his shoulder, trying to get his attention as he keeps his eyes on the _thing_ in front of the car. 

"Uh, Goro?" He tries. He is promptly interrupted. 

"Ryuji, I'm insulted that you would even think I would be jealous. I am above that nonsense." Goro insists, "What are you doing? Why are you tapping m-"

Large hands grasp the underside of the car, pulling it up. The back window shatters, glass spraying like rain. The shape in front of the car roars, sending vibrations through Akira's chest. Goro stares at it for a second, then draws his sword, the light glowing a sanguine crimson. Ryuji gapes at the monster, then grips his lead pipe harder. The shadow lumbers around the car, shaking the ground as it walks. 

Akira grabs his dagger from the sheath at his thigh. He doesn't know when it got there, or how he knows the perfect point of balance to spin it in his hands, but it's _there_. He leaps from the car, adrenaline snaking through his bloodstream. 

"Everyone okay? This Shadow's readings are pretty nasty, but it's nothing the three of you can't handle." Futaba says, the feedback squealing as she hurtles away from the battlefield. 

Akira nods, the bone-white mask cool on his face. Flames swell around him, the beating of raven's wings billowing the hot air around him. 

"Arséne! Take it down." He calls, sweeping his arm out wide. Arséne swoops down, flames licking up the side of the Shadow's legs. It shrieks in pain, then swings wildly. Akira dodges, letting out a short laugh. 

"Nice dodge, Akira!" Futaba says. 

He smirks and nods at Ryuji. "Go on. I'd like to see what you can do." 

The blonde-haired boy grins, tipping a lazy salute to his teammate as Captain Kidd sways on his ship. Ryuji stomps on the ground, and shockwaves of electricity pulse through the ground. The Shadow stumbles, groaning ominously. It falls to the floor with a mighty thump. Ryuji rolls his shoulder, then high-fives Goro. The brown-haired detective elegantly walks forward, the tip of his sword grazing the stone floor. 

"Loki." He breathes, barely audible. 

A striped figure perching on a large greatsword appears behind him, seemingly faceless and calm. Akira watches in amazement as it opens its mouth, revealing rows of sharp, red teeth. The roar shakes through Akira's bones. Shadows creep from around Goro, seeping into his sword like blood creeping back into a wound. He draws back, tensing his muscles as the red sword eats up the light around it. Goro arcs the sword down, and the Shadow bursts open, foul-smelling black pus splattering over the walls. 

"Woah, nice! You obliterated it." Futaba says. 

She's cut off by the mangled scream that rips from Akira's mouth. He clutches at his chest, clawing at the dress shirt. It feels like his skin is tearing apart and restitching itself back together again. It's just like when he first awakened, the burning sensation tingling underneath his skin. 

The pain stops, and the ache settles back into his bones. He's stronger now, he can feel it. Futaba is silent. 

Ryuji looks back at Goro, then at Akira. "You okay?" 

Akira nods. "I'm fine."

Goro adjusts his gloves, wiping a speck of Shadow blood from his face. "You'll get used to it. It's how we all get stronger." 

Futaba winces, but hums in agreement. "That's just how it is. Sorry."

Akira shakes it out of his system. He's faced worse. He feels much stronger now, more resilient. 

Futaba guides them through Mementos with ease, and after a lot of screaming, they all feel much stronger than they were, to begin with. They come to a large, pulsating door. Ryuji kicks at it, but it doesn't yield. Futaba tells them to worry about it later, the rattle of chains is getting closer, and she doesn't want to deal with explaining why three teenagers would wind up missing. 

"Come on, let's head back. You all seem tired, too." She says reassuringly. The emerald light from her little spaceship is a comforting beacon ahead of them. Goro drives in silence, giving Akira the occasional glance in the rearview mirror. He doesn't smile back when Akira does. 

He can't quite wrap his mind around Akechi Goro. He trades masks and emotions like hands of cards, doing what it takes to get what he wants. Akira's mind flits back to the Airsoft store, how Goro put on a cutesy smile, and relentlessly teased Iwai to get what he wanted. Another part of him thinks about the circles that Goro traced on the diner table, quietly telling him what he wanted Akira to know. He's complex, difficult, and sharp. It's refreshing. 

The car comes to a stop, bursting into a little puff of smoke before appearing in the palm of Futaba's green hand. She nods to the exit, patting her Persona on one of its constantly rotating gears. Akira watches as she types the location into the Nav. 

"Good job, guys. You're going to go far." She says, her voice distorting as they pass through realities. 

Akira looks hopefully at Goro. The older boy looks away, biting his lip. Akira cocks his head to the side, finding another angle to look at Goro from. 

"God, fine! Sakura's in." He grumbles, throwing his hands up in the air. Akira grins like the cat who got the cream. Goro points a stern finger at him. 

"You," He starts, " _Have_ to stop looking at me like that. It's very unfair." 

He blinks innocently. "Whatever do you mean, Senpai?" 

Ryuji laughs as Goro groans, sighing into his hands. "Dude, just accept the fact 'Kira just has The Look." 

Futaba waggles her eyebrows. "Whats 'The Look'?" 

Goro moans louder, pinching his brow. Ryuji has a shit-eating grin on his face, slinging an arm over his friend's shoulders. "'The Look' is what we like to call the puppy-dog eyes. Only a small number of people have it, and 'Kira here is a master, apparently."

Akira rolls his shoulders back, then runs a hand through his hair. "Nah, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not any kind of master at anything." 

"Jack-of-all-trades, master of none." Futaba chimes, rocking back on her heels. 

"Better a jack-of-all-trades than a master of one." Goro continued, his voice dripping with disdain. He's biting back a smile, though, so Akira hasn't pushed him too far. 

Futaba's phone chimes and she screeches in shock. "Oh, shit! My team's raiding right now. Gotta blast, losers!" 

She runs as fast as her little legs can carry her, rushing to the gates. Ryuji laughs outside the train station, waving wildly, the people moving in and out of the terminal like shoals of fish. Akira's eyes close, and the calm, focused feeling washes over him like water. 

He can hear a heartbeat not too far away from him, quickening like butterflies' wings. He looks around slowly, scanning for whoever he's picked from the crowd. A tall, willowy boy is standing a few yards away from him, and Akira gets a pang of familiarity. It's the same boy from the train. He peers closer, the blue-tinged void centering on the boy. He's not too far away, but he's not exactly subtle about staring at Akira. 

He breaks out of his state, then turns. The boy is still there, standing next to the entrance to the Ginza line. 

"Hey, I think we're being watched." Akira whispers. 

Ryuji unsubtly cranes his head as far out of their little circle as possible. Goro sighs, then adjusts his gloves, turning to Akira. "Where are they?" 

"Few yards away from here. The same boy was staring at me on the train a while back." Akira replies, nodding to the blue-haired boy. 

His companion frowns. "For a while now? That's worrying." 

Akira shrugs. Ryuji frowns, grumbling. "Which guy is he?" 

Akira doesn't have time to answer, as Ryuji pulls him out into the middle of Station Square, his eyes locked on the boy peering from behind the wall of the station. Marching up to him, Ryuji pulls a fairly surprised Akira with him by the arm. Goro splutters, then follows behind them. 

"Ryuji, what the hell are you doing?" He asks. Ryuji doesn't bother replying, he's already calling the guy over. 

"Hey, you!" The boy flinches, then steps out into view. His eyes meet Akira's, sparkling. Ryuji crosses his arms, looking intimidating. "Wanna explain why you've been tailin' my friend here?" 

"Ryuji!" Goro hisses, keenly aware of the attention drawn to them. A few girls giggle as they walk by him. 

Akira steps forward into the station, pulling Ryuji with him behind the wall, out of sight. The tall boy looks mildly concerned, but doesn't try to run away. Akira inhales and exhales. 

"Why have you been tracking me?" He asks, much calmer than Ryuji. Said blonde grumbles. 

The boy scoffs. "Tracking you? Don't be preposterous. I've been meaning to ask you something." Goro arches an eyebrow, tapping his fingers on his hip as if his fingers are aching for his sword. The boy continues. "I apologize if I've caused you stress. I simply couldn't stop myself."

He takes a deep breath. "I've never seen such beauty before. You're obviously what I've been searching for this whole time!" 

"Uh," Ryuji says. 

"Please! Be the model for my next art piece." The boy pleads, taking Akira's hands and pulling them close to his chest. 

Akira stares up at the boy, blinking owlishly. He gazes down at him with such passion, that Akira almost believes he's still in another reality. A hand cuts in front of his face, wrenching Akira's hands from the clutches of this mysterious artist. 

"Pardon me, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to release my friend here. Who exactly are you? What's your name?" Goro says, smiling politely behind clenched jaws and white knuckles. 

"Forgive me, I've been terribly rude. I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Kitagawa Yusuke." Kitagawa says, bowing his head in greeting. "I am the final student of the artist Madarame." 

Ryuji scoffs. "Who the hell is that?" 

"I think you'll find that he's me." A stern voice calls out from behind them. An old man in a gaudy yukata is standing behind them, his arms crossed across his chest. Kitagawa pales, then presses himself against the wall like a scared animal. 

"Sensei, I didn't know you were here. I thought you were still on your business trip." He stammers. 

Madarame sniffs. "Well, here I am. Stop sniveling, you're embarrassing me." 

Akira glances at the two, then feels an innate tug to look inside Madarame. Something tells him that this man is _off_. As if he's been tampered with. He can't quite explain it.

_Best to look into this one, chéri. Something is not quite right, here._

Akira turns to Kitagawa. "Let me know when I should come over. I'd be happy to model for you."

The boy's face lights up. "O-Of course! Here, come to the exhibit this weekend. I'm sure I have some spare tickets on me somewhere." He trails off, searching his pockets. 

Madarame rolls his eyes and strides off, mentioning something about a waiting car. Goro stares at his back with harmful intent, but says nothing, biting the inside of his cheek. 

Kitagawa presses three tickets into his hands, then runs off after his supposed guardian. Akira watches him get into a shiny black car, then feels a small splutter of rain on his nose. Something was completely off about that whole situation. 

He turns around to two frowning faces. 

"What?" He asks. Goro only sighs. 

"Dude! You can't just accept some modeling offer for a guy you just met. This totally sounds like a shady business deal." Ryuji proclaims, shaking him by the shoulders. 

"Something's off about that Madarame guy, I can feel it. I think we should investigate." Akira defends himself, but Goro only sighs. 

"We'll need to consult Sakura-chan." He mutters. Ryuji groans. 

"You can't seriously be letting the new kid, from the _country,_ be roped into some kinda scam job?" He yells, his voice cracking a little. 

Goro shrugs. "I'm not his keeper. I couldn't care less about what he does in his free time." 

"Senpai! How could you?" Akira says jokingly, placing a hand on his heart in mock offense. 

"Yeah, _Senpai_ , how could you?" Ryuji parrots, pushing Goro lightly in the shoulder. 

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck off, Ryuji."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if yusuke wasn't an art student, he'd be a drama student. obviously, he'd only take part in the shakespearian tragedies. what do you take him for, an amateur?


	5. monachopsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go on a field trip, not realizing they're in for a heavy case of feeling alone in the middle of a crowd.  
> Akira learns a bit more about the mysterious Kitagawa Yusuke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monochopsis: the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach—lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you'd be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home.
> 
> \----
> 
> This chapter has some very difficult conversations about abuse. please, take some time to think about if you're okay with reading about it. if not, you can skip this chapter or this story entirely. the theme will repeat itself.  
> either is completely fine.  
> if you need to talk with someone, here are some numbers for several hotlines:
> 
> UK Samaritans Hotline: +44 116 123  
> USA National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255 
> 
> stay safe out there. you have people who love you.

_The chains rustle, like birds beating their wings together, but to no avail. Like the people they bind, the chains are trapped in seas of blue and grey. The Warden shuffles his cards, eyeing the separated ones like a thief eyes diamonds. So far, The Lovers, The Chariot, The Fool, and The Devil lie away from the others. Gloved hands prise another card from the deck, and toss it in the direction of The Fool._

_"The Wheel of Fortune, hm? Well, that's lovely." The Warden murmurs, watching the card rise into the air._

_It hovers over the group of cards, as if watching or guiding them. He laughs._

_"How sweet, love! You've got a little party going on over here."_

_The High Priestess stubbornly sticks itself out of the deck, trying to wiggle its way over to The Fool. The Warden drives his finger into the table, pinning the card down._

_"Wait your turn!" He hisses, the card trembling underneath his gloved finger. It retreats._

_The Warden hums satisfactorily. He looks up at the bars and smiles. The cards are shuffled again._

Ryuji, Akira, and Goro stand in front of the museum, staring up in awe at the banners. Everything, as far as the eye can see, is some god-awful, vibrant shade of yellow. Akira thinks it looks like a canary died in there. He snaps a photograph for Futaba, knowing she'll get a kick out of this. She declined the offer to tag along after seeing the price for the tickets were more than the repairs for her computer. Goro clears his throat. 

"Let's get this over with." He mutters, opening the glass door. 

The exhibit is packed. Yet another reason Futaba politely declined to come. 

("Abso-fucking-lutely not. I don't want to see some old dickwad's classic art whilst being compressed into a tiny cube. I am already tiny. I do not need to become a cube, Akira. You cannot make me a cube." She says, her eyes wide with indignation. 

He puts his hands up in surrender. "I will not make you a cube, Futaba. Would you like to see photos of the art, though?" 

She shakes her head. "Only if it's a very bad crayon doodle of his Sonic OC." 

Akira shoots her finger guns as he walks out the door. "Gotcha. See you later." 

"Bye, nerd!" Futaba calls out, waving. She returns to whatever she's hacking into. Akira hopes it's not his search history.)

People line the walls like sardines in a packet. Akira can't stretch his arm out more than half a foot without hitting someone's back. Ryuji yawns, accidentally elbowing some guy in the arm. 

"Watch it, punk!" The man yells, pushing Ryuji back in retaliation.

"Sorry, sorry." Ryuji backs off, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Man, what's up with _him_?" 

Goro sighs for the umpteenth time, giving Ryuji an infirm shrug. He opens his mouth, most likely to say something dry and witty, but then he freezes. Like a deer in the headlights, the boy stands stock still in the crowd, his knuckles turning white as he clenches his hands. 

"Oh, fuck me." He says. Akira looks at where his eyes are trained and pales as well. 

A group of girls is making its way over to them, giggling like children. Goro puts on an award-winning smile and gives them a small wave. They squeal, practically buzzing with excitement. 

"God help us," Goro mutters as they push through the crowd, their smiles bright enough to power the entire museum. 

"Akechi-kun? Is that really you?" One gasps, her hands fluttering around her face. He nods.

"In the flesh. What brings you girls here?" He asks, doing his best to be as cute as possible. Akira thinks he's doing rather well.

One girl almost passes out, her friend catching her. "We saw you on the train! We _had_ to come see you."

"Ah." Goro laughs, looking incredibly pained for a moment. "Well, it was lovely to see you. My friends and I are on a bit of a tight schedule, so I'm so sorry, but I'll have to talk to you later. I'd be happy to tell you when my next interview is!" 

The girls scream with excitement. A few other patrons send them a few glares, then realize who they're talking to. Hushed whispers of a high school detective ripple through the crowd and Goro nervously laughs. 

"We're fucked, let's run." He whispers through a forced smile, gripping Akira and Ryuji's arms like a vice. Ryuji snickers as they duck up the back stairs, up onto another floor. 

Their footsteps echo in the halls of the museum, the only noise on the second floor. The area is completely deserted. Murmurs from downstairs drift up the circular staircase, but no one follows them. Goro sighs, withering back into his usual, dry demeanor. They all slump against the wall, the cool stone seeping through their clothes. 

"It's empty." Ryuji muses aloud, running his hand along the stone. 

Akira nods, looking around. The walls are adorned with all sorts of classical landscapes and abstract pieces, all as large as the Shadows they fight in the other world alike. He wanders over to a corridor of paintings of castles in thunderstorms. 

They're beautiful. The arcing lightning spreading across the canvas is almost enough to make him flinch. They look real enough that Akira almost believes that he can press his hand into the canvas, and he would feel the rain on the palm of his hand. 

"They're beautiful, no?" A voice murmurs from beside him. 

Kitagawa has his hands clasped behind his back, but Akira can smell the ink on his skin from here. He gives him a muted smile, then nods at another one of the collection.

"This one is my favorite," Kitagawa says. "The colors are magnificent." 

The storm is over a cliff, the waters beating against the face of the rock. The castle is in ruins, and a rosy sunset is reflecting off of the wet stone. Akira marvels at it. He knows jack shit about art, but he can feel something from this piece. 

The comfort of watching a thunderstorm from the other side of the glass, knowing that you've made it this far, and now the sun was rising. It was hopeful, sweet, and almost melancholic. It was, in short, a maelstrom of emotion. 

"It's gorgeous." Akira breathes, taking in the shades of pink and grey, all washed into each other on the horizon. 

Kitagawa laughs quietly. "Come, let me show you some more." 

Akira lets himself be taken away by the artist, not even glancing over his shoulder to see his friends gawk at his sudden betrayal. 

"Damn, Akira's totally lost in the whole 'hot art guy' thing Kitagawa's got goin' on." Ryuji whistles, leaning against a wall. 

Goro hums in choppy agreement. His friend scoffs. 

"Dude, you're really on edge," Ryuji sits next to him, stretching out his knee. "What's eating you?" 

Goro sighs, pulling his hair back. "It's nothing." 

His blonde friend massages the muscles around his knee, laughing quietly. "Goro, I've known you for years. It's cute how you think I can't read you. Now, spill." 

He groans, snapping the hair elastic around his ponytail. "It's the bloody fangirls! I physically cannot go anywhere without a fangirl wanting my number, or my autograph, or..." Goro trails off, keening into his hands. "You know, I found one trying to get into my apartment the other day. It's horrifying." 

Ryuji pats him on the back, shooting him a sympathetic grimace. "I told you not to get into this kinda shit, bro." 

"Ryuji, even if I listened to your advice on becoming an _astronaut_ , I wouldn't have been able to deviate. My fucking father is adamant about my career choices." Goro growls, sneering at the mention of his father. 

"I know, man. This shit isn't fair." Ryuji agrees, wincing at the pain in his leg. 

Goro watches him with quiet sympathy. "How is it?" 

The ex-track star hums noncommittally. "The usual. Not any worse, not any better. All that Metaverse shit is good for me, though. The pain ain't too frequent now." 

They sit in silence, one watching the other knead their injury. If Goro strains his ears, he can hear the quiet murmuring of Akira and that Kitagawa boy. He sighs. 

"I'm worried, Ryuji. Are we really doing the right thing? Who are we to interfere with people's free will?" 

Ryuji frowns. "Dude, it's past that, now. Would it be better if we just let them die? We're giving them the choice." 

A tiny voice in the back of Goro's mind chews at his thoughts, pushing through to the front. 

"What if they deserve it, though?" He says, in a quiet voice.

His friend gives him a sad look. "Does anyone?" 

They don't speak for a while. The silence becomes too thick to cut, so they let it envelop them. Some things are better left unsaid. 

"Kurusu-kun, I assure you, I do mean it." Kitagawa smiles gently, his eyes shining softly.

Akira blushes, waving his hand as to wave the compliment away. "Kitagawa-kun, please. I'm sure you're just being nice." 

He shakes his head. "I mean it. You are quite possibly the most beautiful subject I have laid eyes on. Which medium to use? Gouache? Oils?" 

Kitagawa trails off, delving into a satchel at his waist. Akira blinks in shock. 

"Oh, would you prefer we did it here?" He asks. 

The artist looks up, as if caught in the act of a crime. He stutters, but packs his things away, wringing his hands nervously. 

"I apologize, I must have gotten carried away. How does tomorrow sound?" He stammers, his voice trembling slightly. 

Akira nods helpfully. "That sounds wonderful." 

They share a tentative smile, both for different reasons. Akira notices a dark, mottled purple bruise hiding behind Kitagawa's high collar. He winces, placing a hand to his own neck instinctively. Kitagawa pales, buttoning up his white shirt, and gasping softly at the pain. 

"Kitagawa-kun, are you alright? That looks like it needs medical attention." Akira asks. 

Kitagawa looks up hastily. "No! I-I mean... No, thank you. It shall heal by itself." 

They stand in silence, a painting of a flowering meadow standing behind them. It's ironic, really. The hum of traffic can still be heard from the second floor. Akira opens his mouth to speak, but so does Kitagawa. They both stop and apologize. Akira goes first.

"What happened? If you don't mind me asking, that is." He asks, smiling comfortingly. 

Kitagawa gulps, his pale face bleaching even more. His ink-stained fingers work at his collar, leaving gray smudges behind them. His eyes roam around the gallery until they land far away from Akira's eyes. 

"I fell." He says shortly. Akira blinks. 

Kindly, he takes the lie. "Alright. What were you going to say?" 

Kitagawa's dark eyes meet Akira's, and he leans in. As soon as he opens his mouth, footsteps strike the silence like hammers into glass. 

"Yes, Yusuke, what _were_ you about to say?" Madarame says, his saffron yukata dazzling with golden thread. It makes Akira's head hurt. 

"N-Nothing, Sensei." Kitagawa steps away, bowing his head. 

Madarame raises a hand, and the young artist flinches away from him, like a dog away from a snake. The old man sneers at him and nods to the stairs. 

"Come, Yusuke. It is time we left. Bid your... _Friend_ goodbye." He drones, giving Akira a dirty look. 

Kitagawa raises his hand feebly, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like honey. Akira waves back, eyeing the retreating back of his Sensei. Their footsteps grow quieter and quieter until Akira stands alone in an art gallery, the distant whine of traffic in the background. 

"Do you think there's something off about this whole thing?" Akira says on the train, swaying when the carriage turns. 

Ryuji shrugs from where he's leaning against the door. "I dunno, man. I haven't talked to that Kitagawa guy that much." 

Akira bites his lip, his brow furrowed. "I think there's something off." 

Goro raises an eyebrow. "Akira, I do hope you understand we can't do this based on your gut feeling?" 

The younger boy waves the thought away, as if clearing the air. The train is almost empty. They left the museum early, so the crowds are behind them. A young woman with large, chunky headphones is the only other person in the carriage, tapping her boot to a beat only she can hear. Goro looks around, then leans forward. 

"I have a new lead. I haven't looked at it yet, but I'll open the email when we arrive at Leblanc." He whispers. 

Ryuji grins. "Nice! Nice going, dude." 

He claps his friend on the back, laughing as the older boy grumbles. Akira laughs, too. 

"Senpai, you dodged those fangirls rather nicely back there. Does that kind of thing happen often?" He asks, adjusting his grip on the pole. 

Goro makes a face. "God, don't remind me. It happens _far_ too often. I've honestly thought about quitting, but that's off the table. My father wouldn't allow it." 

Ryuji sticks his tongue out. "It's okay, bro. You can be a part of the Shitty Dad Club." 

"Thanks." He says, drily. Ryuji ruffles his friend's hair, turning to look at Akira. 

"What are your parents like?" He asks, leaning back against the doors. 

Akira shrugs. "Haven't heard from them much recently. They weren't too happy about the whole 'criminal record' thing, but it's always been a bit tense between me and them." 

Goro hums in thought. "How _did_ you get that assault on your record? You don't strike me as the type to lash out." 

Akira sucks a breath between his teeth, laughing without really meaning it. "It's, uh, a funny story." 

It is objectively not a funny story, Goro decides. He peers at the younger boy as they walk back from the station, wondering how he still had the good graces to not let it get to him. Goro envies him. 

Akechi Goro does not know how to forgive and forget. He knows how to resent and remember, though, and he does just that. Unable to let the past go, he'll make sure that the future befits the punishment his enemies deserve. He says that, but honestly, Goro only has one enemy. 

His father has been controlling, distant, and cruel since Goro was found in the Tokyo Boys' Home. After the cameras stopped flashing, he dropped his hand like a hot stone. At first, it made Goro sad. He felt like he would never be enough, like he would never be wanted. 

When he turned twelve, he grew to resent him. 

Shido had made sure that Goro had an excellent education, purely for the PR benefits. When Goro expressed his dissatisfaction with only being peddled around for events that boosted Shido's reputation, he received a hit to the face. 

"You can take it, Goro. You're a big boy." 

The bruise died down after a week or two. He began to realize that this was never about him. It was about power and popularity. Goro vowed that one day, he would get Shido to acknowledge that Goro surpassed him. Goro would look back at Shido and thank him. He would thank him for being such an insufferable, pretentious prick, and then he would show the world how much _better_ he was than Shido. 

Right now, Goro does everything in his power to him off. Sometimes it works. Most of the time, Shido doesn't even care. He lets him have his own apartment and keep his public image away from the politician's career. False freedom isn't enough for him. He wants to make his father _notice_ him. 

Ryuji did that, for a while. But they don't talk about it now. It's probably for the best. They've been friends for years, so it's nothing that could break down that trust, but it's still a little uncomfortable to talk about. So they don't. 

They listen to Akira's story, and they realize that deep down, they're all not so different. 

Futaba has her bags in one of the booths of the café. Sakura's face is sour, but he's still happy to have her there while he has her. The group sits upstairs, all crowded around Goro's portable laptop. Futaba is perched on the couch next to Akira, who's sitting on the armrest. Ryuji has flopped on his stomach, stretching himself over the top of the couch like a cat. Goro is the only person sitting normally, one leg crossed over the other as he fishes through his work email.

"Here we go," He sighs, tucking his hair behind his ear. Skimming over the email, Goro squints at the screen, muttering the words aloud. 

He draws back, shocked. Akira catches how Goro sends a quick glance at him, then clears his throat. 

"The killer has left some sort of calling card for their target." He says. 

Futaba nods. Ryuji makes a shocked face, then jabs at the screen. 

"I thought you said there were two of them?" He asks. 

"What, two killers? No, Ryuji, there were two potential targets, but the killer has chosen this one," He sends a pointed look to Akira again, then nods to the screen. "Madarame Ichiryusai. The killer sent him a calling card this afternoon." 

Akira bites his lip. "So he has a Palace?" 

"Yep," Futaba nods, "And I think we need to collapse it before the killer can destroy it." 

"We can do that?" Ryuji asks. The ginger-haired girl nods. 

"I thought that's what you guys were doing already?" She questions. 

The boys pale. Ryuji opts out of the conversation, collapsing back onto the cushions of the sofa. Akira gives a shrug, then nods to Goro. 

"This was his idea, you know." He teases, nudging the detective playfully. 

He frowns, swatting Akira back. "Oh, be quiet. It's not like you suggested anything else." 

"I barely know how this whole Metaverse thing works!" Akira retorts. 

Futaba rolls her eyes. "God, forget I asked. Akira, you're going over to his place tomorrow, yeah? We'll infiltrate then. We only have a day or two to complete this, though. Is everyone okay with that?" 

Ryuji nods vigorously. Goro hums in agreement, closing his laptop. Akira grins. "That'll be our first mission, right? Not a bad way to kick off my second week in Tokyo." 

_Come, chéri, I'll show you how it's done._

Arséne chuckles in the confines of his mind, and Akira swears he can feel something else in there, too. If he focuses, he can hear the shuffling of a card deck, ceaselessly rustling in a dark, blue velvet prison. 


	6. retribution is an art form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira distracts Yusuke in order to infiltrate the Palace. Futaba pushes him too far, and the artist reveals something he has kept quiet about for quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some very difficult conversations about suicide and abuse. please, take some time to think about if you're okay with reading about it. if not, you can skip this chapter or this story entirely. the theme will repeat itself.  
> either is completely fine.  
> if you need to talk with someone, here are some numbers for several hotlines:
> 
> UK Samaritans Hotline: +44 116 123  
> USA National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255
> 
> you're going to be okay, i promise. it will get better. :)

"You're doing wonderfully, Akira," Yusuke called from his easel, a streak of red paint stark across his cheekbone. 

Akira can't feel his hands. He's been leaning back on his arms, looking over his shoulder at Yusuke for about an hour. He can only hope that Futaba's automatic lockpick works. She's been gone for a while now, and the others are still in the Palace. 

" _Aha_! I have finished." Yusuke says triumphantly, standing up. Akira exhales and relaxes, stretching like a cat. 

"May I see?" He asks, padding over to the canvas. Yusuke angles it so he can see. 

Akira gasps. He can see himself, languidly staring from underneath his eyelashes at the viewer of the painting, his chin resting by his shoulder. The colors are vibrant, surrounding Akira like a storm of crimson and scarlet. Yusuke made sure that none of the colors had leaked into the painting of Akira himself. He is entirely monochromatic, stained grey and black like marble. 

It's honestly the best painting Akira has ever seen. The brush strokes are familiar to him, but he can't quite place his finger on where he's seen them before. His phone buzzes in his pocket. Futaba has the lock in place. He thanks whatever gods might be watching over them for the smoothness of their mission. 

Futaba skips into the room Yusuke's been assigned, humming lightly. She wanders around back to the canvas. 

"Where did you go?" Yusuke asks hesitantly. She waves him away. 

"Bathroom. This is really good! I like the red." 

Yusuke brightens under the praise. "You... You really think so?" 

She nods vigorously. "Absolutely! Looks a lot like some of the other ones I've seen Madarame paint." 

The artist bristles. Akira winces. Futaba recently uncovered the plagiarism that Madarame was trying to cover up. She mentioned something about transfers between bank accounts, but Akira was too caught up in how he was using Yusuke like a tool. He would never be able to understand how someone could ever be so inhuman as to use someone else for their own gain. 

He has his suspicions of the many other crimes Madarame has committed. The bruises littering Yusuke's pale skin are far too numerous to be pure accidents like he claimed. He wonders if Yusuke wasn't the only one to suffer the abuse of this supposed "Master Artist". There were students before him, all of them ruined now. 

"What of it?" Yusuke presses, tentatively seeing how far the small girl would push her argument. 

Futaba shrugs. "Just thought that it might have been more than coincidence." 

Akira whispers for her to cut it out, but she makes a sharp motion under her chin. He stays quiet. Glancing at Yusuke, Akira can see his jaw is tense, the muscles rippling under his smooth skin. 

"He takes your art, doesn't he?" She says, the light flaring off of her glasses. 

Yusuke remains silent, his eyes alight with fury. Futaba steps forward, her gaze intense. 

"He hurts you, too, Yusuke. It isn't fair, is it?" She challenges. 

The boy winces, sitting back down as if he's been punched in the chest. Akira can't take it anymore. 

"Futaba, that's enough! Leave him be." He yells, glaring at her. 

She pauses for a moment as if assessing her options. After a beat, Futaba steps down.

"He's right. Sorry, Yusuke." She concedes, sweeping her hair behind her shoulders. 

"No. You're correct. Madarame does both of those things." He says, holding a hand up. Yusuke stands, gathering up his supplies. The paintbrushes click like insect mandibles as he places them in the small sink by the window. As he runs the tap, his fists clench. 

"You're here because of that calling card, no?" He questions Futaba, staring intently at the water running down the drain. 

She shares a look with Akira. "Yeah." 

A paintbrush snaps in Yusuke's hand, and he whips around, his face contorted into an angry snarl. 

"Don't interfere! The bastard deserves it. He should pay for the lives he has taken himself!" He hisses, red paint splattering across the floor. A speck lands in the water, and the blot swells, slowly trickling away with the rest of the water. Yusuke is panting, leaning against the sink. Futaba's poker face is adamant, but Akira has a look of fear on his face. 

"Yusuke..." He's speechless, running out of words to say. 

The artist whips around to face him. "A change of heart is exactly how he will pay for his crimes. You have no clue how much damage he has inflicted upon the pupils who used to inhabit this place. One of them, a young girl, couldn't take it anymore. She killed herself, right after he stole her magnum opus. _I_ was the one who found her! _I_ had to scrub the blood from the bathtub!" 

Futaba remains silent. Akira doesn't speak. He couldn't even if he wanted to. Yusuke looks between the two of them like a cornered fox looks at hunters. The tap runs in the background, the sink starting to fill up. 

"He won't have a change of heart, Yusuke," Futaba explains, her voice monotone. 

He growls. "You're lying!" 

"He'll die. The calling card was to prepare his heart for the murder." She hisses, ignoring his seething. 

Akira shifts uncomfortably. "Futaba, it might be best to show him." 

The ginger-haired girl thinks about it for a moment, then nods. "Yeah. He might understand then." 

"Show me what?" Yusuke asks incredulously, but Akira tugs him out of the house before telling him. 

The sky collapses in on itself, reality melting together like a burning oil painting. The sink is still running, water dripping onto the floorboards. The snapped paintbrush bobs on the surface, the scarlet paint bleeding into the water. 

Goro and Ryuji wait by the security system they disabled, leaning against a golden tree. 

"They should be here by now," Goro says, his fingers tapping the hilt of his sword. 

Ryuji nods, pulling his skull mask down. He twitches to attention at the sound of footsteps slapping the stone floor. 

"Someone's comin'." He says, tapping Goro's shoulder. They draw their weapons, retreating to the shadows. Holding a hand up, Goro peeks behind the corner. Akira runs into the light, Futaba and Yusuke behind him. Ryuji chokes on his own saliva. 

"What the fuck is he doing here?" He screams, leaping out from behind the corner. 

Yusuke practically jumps out of his skin. Clutching his chest, he glowers at the masked boy, trying to decipher who he was. 

"You... You're Akira's friend, no?" Yusuke asks, peering at Ryuji's mask. "What on earth is going on?" 

Goro sighs, turning to look at Futaba. "Why is he here?" 

"He has to understand that the change of heart won't be happening unless we get to the Treasure first. Madarame will die if we don't change his heart first." She says, her goggles glinting. 

Akira snaps his red leather gloves. "What are we all standing around for? We only have a few hours left. The route should be secure, right, Futaba?"

She nods, bringing up her holographic maps. Zooming in on a blinking yellow dot, she grins. "I've set up a decoy just in case the other Metaverse user is here as well. The signal will be in the main Treasure Hall on the map, but the _real_ Treasure is in another vault. I've calculated the route, so let's go!" 

Akira smirks behind his domino mask. "This shouldn't take too long. Yusuke, stay behind me." 

The artist begrudgingly does as he's told, looking around at the opulence of the museum. There is gold as far as the eye can see. Madarame took no subtlety in hiding his true nature from the rest of the world. Futaba hops into her Persona, the flash of vermillion light from the lights temporarily blinding Yusuke. 

He is angry, exhausted, and he doesn't know how much longer he can take this. _Madarame would be better off dead_ , he thinks in the back of his mind. Yusuke doesn't say it aloud. Not until a few moments ago, he had never voiced his opinions on his so-called foster father. He had tried so hard to keep his emotions in check, to _love_ him. It was impossible. No matter what Yusuke did, he was always the outlet to the old man's rage. Yusuke's work, his blood, sweat, and tears, was taken from him. The canvases he slaved over were treated like Madarame's work. At this point, he wouldn't' care if the old man died. It's what he deserves. 

As he walks, the girl in the year below him in school pads up to him. They walk in silence for a moment. Yusuke glances down at her, watching the way her goggles glint in the light.

"I know how you feel." She blurts out. "My mom used to do experiments concerning this world. She would gather people with Palaces, analyze their psyche, and figure out how to disable it."

Yusuke nods. He doesn't want to talk to her yet, he just wants to focus on moving forward. 

"I used to look at the files," She continues, "And I would see the crimes that they committed. I thought they should die. I thought they deserved it, that they could pay with their lives. I went with my mom to question one, and I was so disgusted with them. They were horrible, horrible people. I was so convinced that they would be better off dead."

The girl rubs her arms, looking down. 

"Then one of them did. I didn't even know them, but I felt... It's hard to put it into words. No one deserves to die like that, like _this_." She gestures to the glimmering museum. 

Yusuke bites the inside of his cheek. "Some people do." 

She shakes her head violently. "You don't understand. That kind of death is so painful. No one deserves that kind of pain, not even criminals. And, if we _did_ let Madarame die, he'd still die believing that what he did was justified. This outcome is so much better, believe me." 

Yusuke doesn't look at her. Deep down, he's not sure what he wants anymore. Half of him just wants to give up, let Madarame do whatever the fuck he wants, but another part of him wants to see him suffer. To atone. Yusuke keeps walking behind Akira, ignoring the look he's getting from the ginger-haired girl.

Akira checks around the corner, then motions for the others to follow him. He wasn't sure when he started leading, or when they started following, but it felt natural. They trust him. It's nice to be relied on. 

They all file through the vent, Yusuke following close behind him. Akira kicks the vent out of the way, leaping out of the small tunnel. He lands silently, his coat fluttering behind him like wings. 

The room is absolutely packed with art pieces, ranging from silk scarves to portraits. A painting stares back at him, the depicted woman's gaze sweet and tender. The frame sparkles with a golden sheen, and Futaba's monitor starts beeping wildly. 

"This is it!" She whispers excitedly, pointing at it. "Hurry, I'm picking up something pretty powerful on the monitor." 

Akira goes to swipe the painting but stops as Yusuke steps forward. His fingers brush the canvas, a wistful look in his eye. 

"The 'Sayuri', Madarame's maiden work. This is what inspired me to become an artist." He murmurs, a sad look on his face. 

Akira gestures to the painting. "Do you want to take it?"

Yusuke nods. He gathers the painting up, wrapping it in an embroidered silk lying next to the rest of the items. He hoists it over his shoulder and nods. 

"Lead the way, Akira." 

They make it to the exit, hauling the painting over the wall. Akira makes sure Yusuke makes it over the gold bricks but doesn't see the guard coming. A baton arcs itself over his arm, a sickening crack ringing through the cold night air. He hisses in pain, then draws his dagger. Goro leaps across the tops of the vans, drawing his gun. Akira beats him to it, throwing his dagger into the guard's head. The Shadow explodes, black goop dripping across the tarmac. 

"Stop, thieves!" A voice calls from below them. 

Ryuji looks down to see Madarame, dressed in a glittering gold kimono. It sparkles, but a dark stain drips down the sleeve. The man's makeup is running, the rouge on his lips smeared across his chin. 

"He's injured! The killer musta got to him!" He yells, beckoning them over. 

Yusuke looks down at his foster father, disdain clear in his eyes. "This is how he views himself?" 

Akira nods. It isn't a pleasant sight. Even when bleeding out, the old man carries himself with such arrogance. Yusuke hands the Treasure to Futaba, hopping off of the wall. He lands easily, small crystals of frost shooting from beneath the soles of his shoes. 

"Sensei... You have taken everything from me." He growls, slowly walking forward. 

Madarame regards Yusuke with disgust, finding a way to look down at him. "Shut up, brat! Just take it with grace. You're lucky that I still kept you." 

Yusuke flinches, but doesn't back down. His fists clench, and his breathing comes out ragged. 

"I realized something while I witnessed your heart rot from the inside out. No matter what, you will never hold yourself accountable. At first, I thought that you should pay for your crimes with your life." He chuckles darkly, shaking his head. "I realize now that I was wrong. If you die, you will never be able to rot away in a cell, like you deserve. You may not be able to hold yourself accountable now, but after your heart changes, you'll beg for forgiveness."

Madarame quirks a comically large eyebrow. "That's big talk coming from a _tool_ like you. Yusuke, nothing you say will ever matter. You are _nothing_. Your talent, your life, it all belongs to me! Just stop your incessant yapping. I wouldn't expect a dirty little deviant like yourself to understand the world of art!"

"You know nothing of art!" Yusuke snaps. "You know nothing of beauty!"

Madarame laughs, clutching his bleeding arm. Ryuji glances up at the rooftop. 

"Of course I know of beauty! Your mother's painting, the 'Sayuri', was my big break! I recognized the potential it had, and of course, the ends justify the means... All I had to do was slip her a little something each night, a little asbestos in her water, and take the painting from her. Of course, I took you in as well. You do have _some_ talent, after all." 

The air grows significantly colder, frost creeping from underneath Yusuke's feet. He digs his nails into his hands, his eyes flashing saffron. 

"You... Killed my mother. You stole my life from my very hands, and now you mean to tell me that you _poisoned_ my mother because you saw _potential_ in her painting? You disgust me!" He utters, blood dripping down onto the pavement from his hands. 

Akira feels a sudden chill as the wind picks up, ice pelting into the back of his coat. Ryuji looks up at the rooftop again, more worried than last time. 

"Someone's there," He mutters, adjusting his grip on his shotgun. 

Yusuke takes a step forward, snarling like a coyote. "I was wrong. You shouldn't be given the mercy of death. I will never let you forget what you've done!" 

_Have you finally come to your senses?_

Yusuke clutches his head, his fingertips bloody. The world is shaking, and the backs of his teeth are stinging with cold pain. A voice reverberates around his skull, hammering into his head like an icepick.

_Justice must be delivered. Will you be the one to do it?_

Akira stares at the frost forming over the ground, stepping back instinctually. Goro glances at the rooftop as well, then back at Futaba with the Treasure. The girl bounds behind a van, hopping into the Necronomicon. 

"You're correct... Justice shall be delivered. Retribution will be an art form when I am done with it!" Yusuke murmurs, drawing up from his crouch. 

His eyes glow yellow, and blue flames cascade down his face. A kitsune mask appears, and Yusuke screams in pain, his back arching. Clawing at his face, the wind picks up, snow whirling into a dome around the group. Akira can't see three feet in front of him, but he can see the flash of red stain the snow as Yusuke rips the mask from his face. 

The snow suddenly stops, suspended in the air. Dressed in black leather, Yusuke holds his arm out in front of his former teacher. Icicles hang in the air, dagger-sharp, their points turned to Madarame. Akira steps forward to intervene, but Goro holds him back. 

"Wait." He says, simply. 

"A breathtaking sight, no? Your life flashing before your eyes? Do you wonder how many of the students who adored you as 'father' saw the same?" Yusuke growls, the icicles rotating in a circle around his body. 

Madarame falls to his knees, groveling for mercy. Yusuke ignores him. 

"Your life may be what you considered _artistic_ , but beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. Imitations they may be, but together they make a fine spectacle." He sweeps his arm down, the icicles surging forward. "The flowers of evil may blossom brightly, but winter takes no prisoners!"

Madarame crosses his arms over his face in fear, waiting for the death that never comes. The icicles shatter into the pavement, missing him by mere inches. He crawls forward, thanking Yusuke repeatedly. 

"Be quiet," He roars, stepping back, "Do not even think about thanking me. This is my revenge on you. Go back to your real self and atone. You will admit to _everything_. Is that understood?" 

The old man nods, fading slowly into the light. 

"Guys! We hafta run, the killer's on the roof!" Ryuji yells from where he is on the wall, pointing at the silhouette on the museum's roof. 

The ground rumbles, rubbles falling from the tall towers of the building. Akira peers at the figure, but loses them in the turmoil. Goro grasps him by the lapels of his coat, dragging him away from a falling chunk of brick. Ryuji hoists Yusuke's trembling body from the floor, ignoring the indignant cries of embarrassment. 

"Put me down this instant!" Yusuke yells. Ryuji scoffs.

"Not like you can walk, can you?" He retorts. The blue-haired artist opens his mouth to argue but snaps it shut when he realizes there isn't much more to say. 

They tumble out of the Metaverse, narrowly avoiding a falling wall. Futaba pants, then examines the painting she has in her hands. A woman stares down a child in her arms, unconditional love and tenderness in her gaze. Yusuke, draped against Ryuji's broad shoulders, looks over her shoulder at the portrait. 

"He kinda looks like you," Ryuji points out, nodding to the child. 

Goro hums in thought. "I think he is." 

Trembling, Yusuke places a hand on the painting, reading the look on his mother's face. 

"You did the right thing, Yusuke," Akira says, patting him on the back. Yusuke nods, but gives him a sad look. 

"I hope so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love art boy. such a wonderful character. my absolute favorite.


	7. theoretical, hypothetical, and most likely to be true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira helps Yusuke move into the Kosei dorms, then bumps into a friend of the Student Council President's.  
> Goro gives him a task in the red light district.

Madarame's press conference has seven reruns in total. After being arrested, Madarame leaves the shack to Yusuke. He moves out, never looking back. Akira helps him move into the dorms at his school. 

"Where does this go?" He asks, gesturing to a strangely shaped vase. 

Yusuke ponders for a moment, then vaguely gestures to the left. "Wherever you see fit, Akira. You have a wonderful eye, after all." The artist calls from the other side of the room, shoving his clothes into a dresser. 

Akira opts to put it on a shelf by the window. Yusuke seems much less weighed down, perhaps even more starry-eyed than before. He received a large sum of money from the revenue his paintings raked in, but he spent almost all of it on art supplies. Futaba takes the train with him to school every morning. It all seems far too good to be true, but nothing has fallen to shit yet. Akira takes it as a sign that his luck has finally turned around. 

He stands back, admiring the pot. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he jumps. 

"Hello?" 

Goro's voice answers from the other end of the line. "Have you ever heard of a student called Mishima Yuuki?" 

Akira chuckles. "Good morning to you, too. I can't say I have." 

"Can you do me a favor?" Goro asks, and Akira can hear the clicking of a keyboard in the background. He must be working. 

"Sure, but it'll cost you." He jokes, shifting from one foot to the other. 

"Alright. I'll buy you dinner. Can you talk to him for me? I think he has some information of interest, but I don't have the time." Goro says, distractedly, quietly accepting papers from one of his coworkers in the background. 

"I can do that. I was joking, though, you don't really need to-" 

The detective cuts him off. "Something's just come up. I'll talk to you at school tomorrow. I'm free Sunday evening, how does sushi sound?" 

Akira gives up. "Great. It sounds great. I'll see you tomorrow. Don't strain yourself."

Goro laughs. "If I'm not exhausted afterward, is it really work?" 

He hangs up, leaving Akira to laugh nervously to himself. He glances at the clock. Yusuke does the same, then smiles gratefully. 

"You've been a wonderful friend, Akira. I owe you my life, and I have only one request for you." He says earnestly. 

Akira nods. "Shoot."

"Let me join your group. I wish to aid as many people as I can with Goemon by my side." Yusuke requests. 

The black-haired boy nods. "We'd love to have you. I'll let you know when we all meet up." 

Akira gathers his things, walking to the door. Yusuke smiles, then waves goodbye, the 'Sayuri' hanging on the wall behind him. 

The Kosei dorms are busy, the halls writhing with students. They're loud, some of them practicing ridiculously virtuosic piano sonatas, while others are performing dramatic monologues in their rooms. Akira pauses in the hallway, listening to someone play the piano. It's nice, even if it is a little hectic. It'll do Yusuke some good to have other people his age around him. 

Akira steps forward and bumps into someone, knocking them to the floor. 

"Shit, sorry. I wasn't paying attention." He laughs apologetically, helping them up to their feet. 

"Oh, no, don't apologize. It's fine, I'm the one to blame anyway." A girl with dark, chestnut-brown hair says, dusting herself off. She smiles sweetly, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. Briefly, her smile turns sad. She offers her hand out to him, smiling brightly again. 

"I'm Togo Hifumi. I'm a third-year here at Kosei. You were just coming out of Kitagawa's room if I'm not mistaken." She beams, her forest-green eyes shining. 

Akira shakes her hand. "Kurusu Akira. I'm a second-year at Shujin. I'm kind of new there. But yeah, Yusuke's a friend of mine." 

She blows out a relieved sigh. "Oh, I'm glad. I always see him alone and I feel so bad for him! I considered talking to him, but I doubt he would want to be friends with someone like me..." She trails off, then takes her hand back. 

"What do you mean? You seem really nice." Akira asks, twiddling a strand of his hair between his fingers. 

Togo looks up, shocked. "Oh, did I say what out loud? I beg your pardon, my mind is a little fuddled right now. I'm a little intimidating, you see. I'm a professional shogi player. Currently, I'm experiencing a little, erm... Boost of popularity and a lot of people have begun thinking I'm a little standoffish or eccentric as they get to know me more."

She smiles apologetically. Akira nods, not quite understanding her reasoning, but not willing to push her any further. A voice calls out from behind them, and Akira turns around to see a familiar face. 

"Oh, it's you." The new Student Council President says. "I wasn't aware you knew Hifumi." 

Akira shakes his head. "I just bumped into her. Do you two know each other?" 

They both nod, speaking at the same time. 

"Yeah, we're really close-" 

"Makoto's my best friend-" They stop, then laugh awkwardly. Niijima blushes, then links her arm through Togo's. 

"We're best friends." She says, looking slightly pained from the embarrassment. Togo nods, beaming genuinely down at her friend. They bid Akira a hasty goodbye, then retreat around the corner, talking of bubble tea and coffee cake. Akira leaves the dorms, walking quickly to the train station.

Leblanc is much quieter when Akira returns, the distinct lack of Futaba being the key component. Sakura is leaning against the counter, swinging a ring of keys around his forefinger. 

"Good evening," Akira says, politely. Sakura grunts in reply. 

"I'm sick of waiting up for you. Lock up for me, alright? Just stay out of trouble." He says, tipping his hat further over his eyes as he leaves the café. 

Akira stares down at the keys in his hands, then at the subway map, Sakura left on the bar. He takes the map and leaps up the stairs, rushing to change out of his dust-covered t-shirt. As he's wriggling out of his jeans, his phone starts ringing. 

"Hello?" He asks, pulling his left leg out of the clothing. 

"I've sent you a picture of Mishima. I've heard he hangs out around Shinjuku, if you're anywhere close right now." Goro says, the shuffle of paper and clicking of a keyboard in the background again. 

"I was just headed out. I'll keep an eye out for him. Any pointers on starting the conversation to get the info you need?" Akira asks, tossing the jeans onto the floor. 

Goro inhales sharply through his teeth. "Sorry, I've got nothing. He seemed fairly excitable when I last met him, but after Kamoshida, he changed rather drastically." 

"It's fine. I'll work it out. Are you still working?" He asks, softly. 

There is a sigh from the other end of the line. "At this rate, I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to leave. I've been getting all of the paperwork, but I should be able to leave soon. If it all goes down to shit, I can meet up with you in Shinjuku." 

Akira shakes his head, rifling through his clothes to find something decent to wear. "Don't. You sound exhausted, so go home and get some rest." 

"Just to spite you, I'm meeting up with you afterward. You can tell me everything you found then. I'll send you the address." He says, and Akira can hear the dry humor in his voice. 

"You're impossible." He laughs, pulling the cardboard box further out from where it was in the shelving unit. 

"Aren't I? What's all that noise?" 

Akira examines a silky button-up. "Getting changed. What's Shinjuku like? Do I need to be worried about standing out?" 

Goro falters for a moment but clears his throat. "Y-You don't need to worry about that. I am fairly certain you'll blend right in." 

Akira cradles his phone against his shoulder, pulling on some pants. "Got it. I'll see you in a while."

Akira frowns. When Goro said he'd blend right in, Akira was sure it was a compliment. Looking around at the women in torn pantyhose, leaning into car windows, the sleazy-looking recruiters yelling across the street, and the drunken businessmen with their ties hanging loosely from their necks, Akira is pretty sure that his friend was being snide. He shrugs, walking forward. The boy he's trying to find looks like the average high schooler, if not on the cuter side. He walks past a bar opening onto the street, then stops. Sitting at the end of the bar, a familiar girl is stirring an amber-colored drink. She looks up at a large man in a grey suit with slicked-back hair, giggles, then takes a sip of her drink. 

Her sapphire eyes slide over to Akira, and she pales. 

"Everything alright, Ann-chan?" The man asks, his hand stroking her leg. She nods, smiling brightly. 

"Absolutely, Kanecchan! Just getting a little woozy." She giggles flirtatiously, but her sharp eyes never leave Akira. 

He retreats, leaving his classmate to down the drink she's definitely too young for. He'll have to remember this later. For now, he has to find this 'Mishima'.It doesn't take too long. An awkward 17-year-old isn't hard to pick out of a crowd. Akira walks over to him, and the boy's face immediately turns scarlet. 

"Ah! I know you." He exclaims, his eyes blown wide. "Kurusu-kun, right?" 

Akira nods. "That's right. We're in the same class. I saw you, and I just wanted to say hi." 

Mishima nods, tripping over himself to walk closer to Akira. "I know a place we could get a drink. Non-alcoholic, of course." 

Akira gives him a smile. "Sure. Lead the way." 

Mishima drums his fingers on the table, then leans close. "I know why you're here. I'm not stupid." 

Akira blinks. They had stepped into a little café to talk, then sat down in a booth near the back. The boy looks at him intensely, then leans back. 

"I can tell you what you need to know. I've been studying this shit for ages." He says, tapping his foot. 

Akira nods. "That sounds perfect. What can I do for you in return?" 

Mishima's mouth sets in a grim line. "Protection. Worst case scenario, I want you to protect my... _Other_ self in that _other_ world."

Akira raises an eyebrow, crossing one leg over the other. "Fine. It's a deal." 

They shake on it, then Mishima brings out a massive binder from his backpack. He flips to the middle, then unfolds the large sheet to show Akira. Red threads traverse across the mindmap, polaroids stuck like taxidermied butterflies to the paper. 

"What I know is that the killer has to originate from Shujin. They have to have attended Shujin for at least two years or had a history with Kamoshida. It doesn't have to be mutually exclusive. Possible motives could have been the death of Suzui Shiho, or the missing persons' case on Takao Eiko. It could also be another person who couldn't take the abuse and snapped." He says, pointing to a picture of a girl. She is wearing the Shujin volleyball jersey, but she's covered in bruises. Although the other person is cut out of the picture, it's clear that she's holding hands with someone. 

Akira nods, leaning over the binder. Mishima looks up. "I don't have any clear suspects, but it's likely that the killer is working alone." 

"What can you tell me about the deaths a few years ago?" Akira asks quietly. 

Mishima's dark eyes bright up. "You think they're connected? I was only going to give you the Shujin information, but you seem ahead of the game." 

He clears his throat, then turns to another page, covered in scribbles and cuttings from newspapers. "My original theory was that Kamoshida's killer was a copycat, but then I took a look at the way the detectives reacted to it. They said the key link was the calling cards they found on the scene. They were far too similar to have been different people, so my new theory is that the killer's motive for Kamoshida was _personal_. The others, I have no clue, but they obviously wanted Kamoshida to be found." 

Mishima closes the binder and leans back, sighing quietly. "That's all I've got for now. We have a deal, remember? Keep me safe and I'll keep you posted." 

Akira nods, smiling. "You've been super helpful, Mishima." 

He blushes, looking away. "Y-You think so?" 

"Absolutely. Don't be a stranger at school, okay?" He assures him, getting up to leave.

The boy grabs his wrist when he leaves, then retracts his hand like he's touched fire. "Sorry. I just... What's your number? It'd be best if we communicated over text sometimes." 

Akira punches his number into Mishima's phone, then checks the address Goro sent him. He looks back up at Mishima.

"I'll see you tomorrow." He chimes, waving. 

Goro drums his finger on the bar, glancing at his watch. Akira's late. He wonders if the younger boy got lost, or if he got cornered by a recruiter. He swallows the rest of his drink and sets his mouth in a grim line. Worrying about someone other than Ryuji is very mentally taxing. Lala gives him a look and refills his glass. 

"Rough day?" She hums, wiping the bar down. Goro nods, pulling his hair back. 

"I'm being treated like an intern. I swear, the second Sae gets back from her business trip, they're going to trip over themselves to apologize." He mutters, taking a sip of his drink. 

Lala nods sagely. "That's law enforcement for you." 

He groans, then checks his watch again. The bartender raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, making a clucking noise with her tongue. 

"Waiting on someone, dear?" She asks, looking at the door. Goro nods. 

"He's late." He comments, circling the rim of his glass with his fingertip. 

Lala sighs then gives him a look. Sarcasm practically drips from her voice onto the bar. "You really do know how to pick 'em." 

He scowls, then rolls his eyes. "He's a coworker. Of sorts." 

" _Uh-huh_." She only raises her eyebrow higher and attends to another customer.

The door opens, a brisk gust of wind blowing in with the figure in the doorframe. Akira shuts the door behind him, makes eye contact with Goro, then slips into the seat next to him at the bar. 

"Hey. You are not going to _believe_ how much information Mishima has." Akira grins, his eyes bright with satisfaction. 

Goro takes a sip of his drink. His face is a little warm and he's not as sharp as he usually is. 

Lala clicks her tongue. "Coworker, my ass." 

"You're late." He says, bluntly. Akira winces. 

"Sorry. I was trapped by a lady in a fluffy coat." He runs a hand through his hair. 

Goro sighs. Of course, he should have warned Akira that Shinjuku was the red light district. He isn't surprised he got cornered by a hooker. Akira's good-looking, which was a bad thing at 11:30pm in Shinjuku. 

"What did he have to say?" He asks, watching the ice melt in his glass. 

Akira perks up. "He's basically a very informed conspiracy theorist. Said that the killer definitely the same one that's been at large for a few years, now. He thinks they're from Shujin, working alone, and that Kamoshida was a personal target." 

The detective nods, sliding his glass over to Lala for another refill. "Interesting. When Sae gets back, I'll have her look into that for me. Anything else?" 

Akira thinks for a moment. "Not really related, but I saw Takamaki Ann at a bar with an older guy. I hope she's doing okay." 

The bar is quiet, the only other customer having just flagged down a taxi outside. Akira leans on the bar, his pale skin peeking through the rips in his jeans. Goro's hair is messy, and he's staring into the bottom of his glass. Lala gives him an uneasy look, then heads to the back. She trusts him enough to not cause any trouble. She also knows which topics aren't for her to hear. 

"Are you alright?" Akira asks his friend, placing a hand on his arm. Goro downs his third (or fourth? Akira doesn't know many Goro had before he got there. This could easily be the fifth from the state he's looking) and turns to Akira. 

"I'm fine. Why?" He raises an eyebrow.

Akira has to give it to him, even when drunk, Goro still has the "I'm judging you for judging me" look down. He pauses before speaking, trying to let his words catch up to his mind. 

"You seem a little..." He trails off, Goro's hard stare intensifying. 

"A little what?" 

Akira chews his lip. "Did something happen today? You're kind of... Drunk." 

Goro waves him away, getting up from the bar. He picks up his jacket and leaves some cash on the table for the bartender. She bustles in, tutting like a mother hen.

"This boy, honestly. Can you make sure he gets in a taxi? I'll handle the cash, don't worry." She says, rolling her eyes as Goro opens his mouth to protest. 

"Lala, you know I don't want your pity." He snipes, shrugging his jacket on. 

Lala shakes her head. "Oh, it's not pity, darling. I don't want you tarnishing my bar's reputation! Do you really want your friend to see you like this?" 

The detective glances at Akira, biting his lip. His brow furrows, and he throws his hands in the air in defeat. Akira pats him on the back and takes the money from Lala. 

"Thanks. I'll make sure he gets home safe." He promises, leading him out of the bar. 

The air outside is cold, biting the tips of Akira's ears. He shivers, pulling his jacket around him tighter. Goro's steps are slightly misplaced, and he stumbles every now and then, leaning into Akira's shoulder. 

"Why are _you_ drinking? You're not even of legal age, yet." Akira chides him, placing an arm under his shoulders. 

"Lala doesn't care. Business is business. Worse things happen in Shinjuku." He mutters, turning his face away from the crowd. 

Akira gives him a look, blowing his bangs out of his face. He flags down a cab, then hands Goro the money. 

"Get home safe, Senpai." He says, opening the door for him.

Goro gives him an unreadable look. He looks almost pained, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and his brow knitted. 

"That's unfair, Akira." He murmurs, gazing at him with that unfamiliar expression Akira has never seen him wear before. 

Without another word, he ducks inside the car and shuts the door. Akira sighs as the taxi speeds off, the tail lights melting in with the rest of the road. 

He should get home. 

Akira locks up the café, then places the keys in the dish on the counter. Rain starts to tap the glass, and Akira remembers he left his window open. He sprints up the stairs, hoping his bedsheets aren't wet. As he shuts the window, he glances down at the streets slowly being turned into mirrors, reflecting the streetlamps. Akira falls back on his bed, bone tired. Not even after two minutes, he drifts off, the smell of rain lingering in the attic. 

He falls backward, chains rustling past him. Awaking with a jolt, the sound of a chain clanging against the bars of his cell echoing in the Velvet Room. Naoya stands in front of the bars, smiling enigmatically. Akira scrambles to his feet, practically throwing himself against the bars. 

"Naoya," He breathes, just to let the name stay on his tongue.

The white-haired boy smiles sadly. "I'm afraid I'm not-"

"Not Naoya. I know." Akira sighs, pressing his forehead against the iron bars. 

He shakes his head, slipping a gloved hand into the cell to cup Akira's face. "It's strange, my Trickster. I feel as if I know you, and yet my memories are blank." 

Akira perks up, looking into Naoya's golden eyes. "You remember me?" 

"Faintly." Naoya murmurs, running his fingers through Akira's hair. 

"I could help you remember me." He pleads, reaching out to grip his sleeves. 

"I wouldn't want to delay your rehabilitation." Naoya winces, tucking a strand of inky black hair behind Akira's ear. "Unless...?" 

"Unless?" Akira echoes, pressing closer to him through the bars. 

"We could make a deal?" Naoya offers, leaning his head to the side. It's a view Akira's dreamt of seeing since he was gone, a fantasy he begged to become reality. 

"Anything." Akira breathes. 

Naoya's hand reaches through the bars, resting above Akira's heart. "If you help me regain my memories, I'll give you special perks in the Velvet Room. Have you collected any more Personas yet?"

Suddenly, a book snaps open, the pages fluttering like birds' wings to find the right page. Naoya draws back, mouthing the words underneath his breath. Akira watches him, waiting for him to speak. 

"How interesting. A few of these Personas have been found already." Naoya murmurs, then snaps the book shut. He clicks his fingers, and a ball of light appears in front of Akira's chest. 

"Reveal yourself!" He orders, and several masks fly through the bars to hover over the desk in the middle of the room. 

One of them glows, transforming into a woman with a fan obscuring her face. Purple paint stains her skin, circling her cheekbones and her thighs. She rustles her white kimono and sighs breathily. 

"I never thought I'd see freedom again. Thank you for freeing me. I am in your debt as your mask, Trickster. My name is Ame no Uzume. Let our days together be filled with mirth and celebration." She flashes Akira a dazzling smile, her teeth sharper than he expected. 

Ame no Uzume lunges towards Akira, morphing back into a mask, crashing into him with a flash of blue light. Akira stretches his fingers, feeling new power coursing through his veins. 

_I shall be here to guide you, sweetness._

In turn, each mask reveals their true form, then collides into Akira. By the end of it, he starts to feel a little woozy, his head spinning from the number of voices in his mind. He grabs the bars to steady himself, then looks up at Naoya. 

He gazes down, smiling, at Akira, lending him a hand. "Well done, my Trickster. You are doing very well." The bell rings from far away, and the Velvet Room starts to fade. Akira grips Naoya's hand and yells to him over the sound of ringing. 

"I promise, I'll help you remember!" 

Akira wakes up, a cold sweat covering his body. 

_Calm yourself, chéri. You are safe._

_Yes, sweetness, nothing is wrong._

He grasps his head, a dull pain reverberating through his skull. On the windowsill, his phone is ringing. He sighs. 

"Hello?" He asks, stifling a yawn.

"Did you get home safe?" Goro says, his voice worn out. 

"Yeah. Did you?" Akira answers, watching the rain pelt against his window. 

Goro hums in confirmation. "I forgot to tell you something before I left. I only just remembered now, but I was looking into the Navigation app, and I found something."

Akira rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Oh, yeah?" 

"Akira, Niijima Makoto has a Palace." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akira is like max levels you get in the game, but has low wisdom, constitution, and physical strength.  
> sigh.  
> dumb of ass, pure of heart.


	8. vignettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Different hours of the same day as seen by different pairs of eyes. They're all drawn back to a small café nested on the backstreets of Yongen.  
> Save for one. Instead, he takes a journey into the growing depths of his own heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! it's me again!   
> i just wanted to warn you that this chapter mentions suicide. this can be a very difficult topic for some people, and this fic contains a lot of it. please take care of yourselves! you are loved!

_The Warden eyes The High Priestess, watching it writhe underneath the pin he stuck through the middle. Slowly, he removes it, freeing the card from the table. Immediately, it shoots over to the other cards free of the deck._

_"How rude. The impatience of some people, these days." The Warden tuts, clicking his tongue._

_The cards fan out in front of him, but two stand out. They're reversed, sticking out like sore thumbs from the rest of the deck. The Empress and the Emperor lay together, their energy tense as The Empress does her best to fix The Emperor. It's futile. The Warden laughs coldly, then adds them back to the deck. They'll get their time soon enough._

Ryuji swings back on his chair, narrowly avoiding cracking his skull open on Akira's windowsill. Futaba sucks a breath in through her teeth as she does so, worried about his health. She rolls her eyes and leans forward on the table. 

"So her Palace is a tower? What is she, like, some kind of dragon?" She says, cynical. 

Goro shrugs, rubbing his temples. "I don't know. On a whim, I put her name in there. I guessed the rest from what I've heard about her from her sister. She often mentions Makoto being distant, so I put two and two together, and..." He trails off, having lost the rest of them as his mind races past his mouth. 

"That's great and all, but what are we gonna do about it?" Ryuji groans, kicking his feet up on the desk by the window. 

His friend shoots him a sharp look, pulling his almond-colored hair down. "We are not doing _anything_. This goes completely against our agreement. Akira was the one who brought it up, but it was my fault for being caught off-guard. I apologize, Akira, last night was absolutely humiliating." 

Goro winces, averting his eyes, and straightening his tie. 

Akira runs a hand through his hair, smiling nervously. "It's fine, Senpai. I'm glad you're doing okay now." 

Futaba rolls her eyes, her pocky dangling from the corner of her mouth. "Back on track, final verdict on Niijima Makoto's palace?" 

Ryuji swings back on his chair. "Nope." He says, popping the P.

"It is an unnecessary distraction," Yusuke adds, nodding his head. 

Akira looks at Goro, who clears his throat. "We won't touch it." 

"She's not our top priority," Akira concludes, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Futaba nods, then hauls her laptop onto the table, the fan whirring loudly. She turns it around, showing everyone the headline. Ryuji stops rocking on the back legs of his chair, his face pale. 

"I thought we stopped the killer?" He says, pointing at the headline.

It reads: KANESHIRO JUNYA, MAFIA LEADER, FOUND DEAD IN SHINJUKU'S BACK ALLEYS.

Goro shakes his head. "It's possible to make two calling cards. They would have had a packed schedule, but we shouldn't rule out that they act quickly."

"Whatever happened here, we can't let happen again," Futaba says, frowning. Her glasses flare in the light, and she reads the article aloud. "Kaneshiro Junya was found dead this morning in the streets of Shinjuku. His second in command has confessed to being a part of the human trafficking scandal that has been investigated for the past few months. It is apparent that the cause of death was a mental shutdown, with the tell-tale calling card found on the scene."

Akira sits back, blowing his bangs out of his face. He glances at the photo of the victim again, and his brow furrows. 

"Hey, I think I've seen him before." He says, pointing at the man with slicked-back hair. "I don't remember where, but I've definitely seen him before." 

Goro sits up, producing a notepad from his jacket pocket. "Was there anyone else with him?" 

Akira thinks for a moment, staring at the grains in the wood table. "I think I saw Takamaki Ann with him, last night."

Ryuji scoffs. "Well, I'm not surprised. She has connections to everyone with her parents being super important jewelers or something. I heard that not only is she 0modeling for Vague, but she's schmoozing it with some politicians! Rich people are wack, man." 

Goro takes some notes, then puts the notepad back into his pocket. He stands up, fetching his briefcase and checking his watch. 

"I'm headed to the office. Could you let registration know I'll be joining you all after lunch?" He asks, fixing his hair. 

Ryuji nods. "Sure, man. Oh, have you chosen your location for the careers trip?" 

Akira perks up. "The what-now?" 

The blonde laughs, ruffling Akira's unruly hair playfully. "Weren't you payin' attention? We get to choose a place to do some work experience stuff. It's pretty chill, they did it last year, too." 

Goro glances down at his phone. "I can get us into the TV station. I've got an interview there soon, so it'll be rather easy. I'll see you all this afternoon." 

Futaba taps into her keyboard as the older boy descends the stairs, humming in thought. Yusuke peers over her shoulder. 

"I think we should use codenames from now on," She announces, not looking up from her screen. "It would be bad if the killer got our names, especially if they're from Shujin, like your friend Nishima-"

"Mishima." Akira corrects her. She waves him off. 

"Whatever. It would be a good idea to keep our identities hidden. I want mine to be Oracle. Nothing can escape my scanner!" 

She giggles, then looks up at Akira over the top of her computer, her glasses glinting. Futaba smiles genuinely, and Akira realizes that he hasn't seen her smile like this in a while. She must be so tired, looking after the team. He grins back at her, then reaches over the table to ruffle her hair. 

"Alright then, _Oracle_. Guide us to victory." He teases, getting up to grab his bag. 

School had decided to open a few hours late, just to put worried parents' minds at ease. The school's reputation would have taken a few hits, but looking at the dismally large amounts of students shivering in clumps in the hallway, this is more than a hit to the school's reputation. Niijima is tacking up flyers, her face tired and sour. Yuuki watches from the window as the rain starts to pour down, beating itself against the windows. 

_(The Warden sighs. "Oh, you poor, poor thing."_

_He flips The Tower between his fingers, then lets it drop to the table. It slowly pulls itself to The Fool, aching for some kind of connection._

_"Go on, dear. It'll be sweet to see you try." He says, his eyes glinting like gold.)_

From the window, Yuuki sees Sakamoto and Kurusu race to the gate, the rain soaking through their shirts. A bitter twang of jealousy stabs him through the heart, and he clenches his fist on the desk. Kurusu is laughing, his shoulders shaking the bag he holds. 

Kurusu-kun is attractive in a way that makes itself apparent after watching the boy move. Yuuki stares at the way his rainsoaked shirt clings to the dark-haired boy's skin and feels himself shudder. Kurusu has the type of grace he sees in the dirty magazines Yuuki glances at in Shinjuku. The way he conducts himself is like something out of a fantasy he pretends not to make. Yuuki sighs into his hand, then wrenches his gaze from the window as Kurusu looks up. 

A shrill scream resounds in the hallways, and people jump in fright. Yuuki rushes out into the hallway, looking for the source of the sound. His eyes find Niijima, crumpled in a heap in the hallway, shrinking away from the notice board. Yuuki cranes his neck to see the board as people crowd around her, helping her to her feet. 

Taped to the board, a white card is placed delicately in the middle of the posters. It's flecked with scarlet beads of liquid, running down the sides of the cards. Yuuki swallows, then notice the small, serrated knife pressed into the top of the card. In the middle of the card, in fine printing, reads a message. Yuuki reads it aloud. 

"Niijima Makoto. For too long, you have used your position as Student Council President to hide the heinous acts of Kamoshida Suguru. In compensation, you'll lose what was taken from Suzui Shiho, Watanabe Misao, Takao Eiko, and Muramoto Seiren. This serves as the first warning."

The card flutters to the floor, landing at Niijima's feet. The girl hiccups, then gets to her feet, crushing the card in her fist. 

"Who is responsible for this?" She demands, turning on the people who helped her to her feet. They all stay quiet, but Niijima only shakes her head imperiously. "I _will_ get to the bottom of this. No student should feel threatened on this campus."

Yuuki can't help but wonder why she would feel threatened. He thinks back on the names, then it clicks together in his head. Suzui had thrown herself from the school rooftop, then died in her best friend's arms. Watanabe was found in her home, dead, after drinking a bottle of nail polish remover. Takao was the second on-campus death, found in one of the bathroom stalls with a box cutter in her neck. She was missing until a few days ago (He'd have to update his portfolio). Muramoto was only a first-year, but she wasn't exempt. She killed herself the same way Suzui did. 

All of the girls were targets of Kamoshida in one way or another, be it from harassment or assault. Yuuki feels sick. Niijima is being threatened with her life. He watches her back as she storms back into the Student Council Room, then stoops to pick up the crumpled card she dropped on the floor. Something in the back of his mind tells him to keep it, to use it as a factor in his own investigation. 

Kurusu and Sakamoto pass through the hallway, and the dark-haired boy gives Yuuki a smile, leaving his heart to stutter as the boy walked away. There _had_ to be a way to get Kurusu to talk to him today. Yuuki can't take it, he has to speak to him today, or he'll explode. He goes to tap Kurusu on the shoulder, but a hand clamps around his arm. 

"Mishima, get back to your classroom. It's time for registration." Ms. Usami says, her eyes hardening behind her glasses. 

Kurusu will have to wait. Yuuki can work on his portfolio, for now.

The line for the bread store is longer than Ann has time for. Whatever. She can skip lunch today. She'll have to if she wants to get on the front page for her next shoot. For now, she just sits by the vending machines, enviously eyeing the packets of potato chips other students fish from the bottom of the machines. She sighs, then rests her chin on her hand.

"That was a big sigh. What's going on, Ann?" A voice calls from her left. 

Ann looks up at Haru, then graciously accepts the small flask of miso soup the girl offers. 

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering what it would be like if I didn't have to calorie count this week. Fucking _Vague_ and their obsession with beach bodies. It's literally June." She grumbles, sipping from the thermos. 

The older girl laughs softly, then tucks a strand of Ann's hair behind her ear. "Don't worry. You'll look wonderful no matter what." 

Ann laughs bitterly. "Try telling that to my agent."

They sit in companionable silence for a while, then Haru hums in thought.

"Kaneshiro's dead. I saw that in the news this morning." She notes absentmindedly. Ann nods. 

"Took him long enough. Was only a matter of time until they found out about the ring. Interesting how that detective kid didn't issue a statement on that one. I thought he was on those kinds of cases. His name's Akechi, right?" Says Ann. 

Haru screws the lid back on her thermos. "That's right. He's in my class, you know. I think he quit the school council, recently. Niijima's all alone in that big, big room." Haru coughs. "Speaking of which..."

The girls look up, watching the Student Council President storm through the outdoor halls, her footsteps clanging against the metal. Ann nudges her companion, then makes a face. Niijima glares down at them.

"Takamaki, Okumura, good afternoon. I have a question for you." Niijima asks the blonde, glaring down at her. Ann bats her eyelashes, and giggles.

"Oh, Niijima-heika! I didn't see you coming, you surprised me." She lies. Niijma frowns at the nickname, but brushes it off. 

"You were close with Suzui Shiho, no?" The short-haired girl asks, raising a sharp eyebrow. Ann's face hardens, and her eyes freeze over.

"I was." 

Niijima shifts her weight from one foot to the other, then crosses her arms over her chest, a few seconds away from growling. 

"Did you have anything to do with the... _Calling card_ , of sorts, sent to me this morning?" She demands, but Ann simply shrugs. 

A smile spreads across her face, sharper than cut diamonds. "I came in late this morning. Sorry, Niijima-heika." 

Haru giggles airily, then wraps her arm around Ann's shoulders, pulling her close. "Sorry, Niijima. I'm afraid I don't know anyone either. Is there anything else, or can we get back to our lunch now?" 

The brown-haired girl's eye twitches, and she grumbles. Turning on her heel, Niijima storms off, leaving the pair to laugh to themselves. Ann grins, fluffing out her hair. 

"Who knew the Queen herself couldn't handle a little bit of PDA? That girl is such an uptight _bitch_." She groans, her voice hardening. Haru pats her shoulder comfortingly. 

"There, there, Ann. If she really got that calling card, she'll get what's coming for her." 

Ann sighs dreamily, placing her head on Haru's shoulder. "You're right, as usual. Let's get coffee after school, okay?"

"Hifumi, you wouldn't believe the shit I had to put up with today." Makoto groans as she swipes her travel card through the train station's reader. 

Hifumi does the same, then pockets it. "What happened?"

"I was given a death threat. A _death_ _threat_." The girl sighs into her hands, her voice gravelly from shouting at people all day. 

Her friend bites her lip, placing her hand on her shoulder. "Makoto, are you alright? Did you tell anyone?"

Makoto nods. "The Principal didn't have the time to talk to me today, but he said he'd deal with it later. God, this is so messed up. I didn't even do anything wrong! I'm just doing as I'm told, like some dumb princess." She grumbles again, then turns to Hifumi, burying her face in her friend's shoulder. "There are these two girls who get on my nerves, too! One's a second-year, and she keeps calling me 'your highness'. Her girlfriend is rude, too!" 

Hifumi blushes as Makoto's voice rumbles against her neck. She grabs her friend by the shoulders and pulls her away, stammering. 

"T-That sounds terrible, Makoto. I'm really sorry." She stutters, trying to hide the redness of her face with her hair. 

Makoto peers around the curtain of dark hair to get a look at Hifumi's face, placing a hand on her forehead. She mumbles something about a fever, and the girl squeaks, her face growing hotter. 

Makoto frowns. "You don't seem to be unwell. Let's go get some coffee, okay? I know a place in Yongen my sister goes to." 

This is exactly how Akira ends up serving two pairs of equally furious high school girls. He's not sure if Togo qualifies for anger, but she's very embarrassed that Niijima is sending death stares to the two girls sitting at the counter. He pours the girl her mocha, then passes Niijima's cappuccino across the booth's table. 

"It's quite the coincidence, wouldn't you think? We simply bumped into each other before, and now we're here. In your café. Is it yours?" Togo stammers, trying to make casual conversation as Niijima seethes in the seat next to her. 

Akira shakes his head. "I'm simply staying here. Sakura-san's the owner. He's out right now."

Togo takes a sip of her mocha, and eyes the glare Niijima is shooting the blonde girl sitting at the bar. She thinks she recognizes her from somewhere, but isn't quite sure where. 

Akira walks behind the bar again, wiping the mahogany down. He looks at Takamaki from underneath his bangs, watching the way she fawns over the girl he assumes is her girlfriend. Their eyes meet, and he goes back to polishing the table. He's on the fence about asking her whether or not her girlfriend knows she was flirting with a man old enough to be her father last night. He knows it isn't any of his business, but the girl looks so sweet, he's afraid she'll be heartbroken. 

"Can I get you anything?" He asks, removing the coffee grounds from the filter. 

The fluffy-haired girlfriend perks up, then nods cheerily. "Oh, yes, please!" 

She orders the house blend, then looks to Takamaki. 

"I'll take a soy-milk matcha latte, thanks. Is it possible to get it low-fat?" She asks, giving Akira a piercing look. 

He grits his teeth and nods. Boss would kill him for giving that kind of stuff to the customers, but from what he's seen of Takamaki, he's not willing to get a broken nose over some coffee.

He begrudgingly makes Takamaki her low-fat, soy-milk, bullshit coffee. As Akira works the machine, his eyes drift down to the copy of Vague that Sakura leaves out for the customers. It's a few issues behind, but right there, on the front page, Takamaki pouts at him. Her lips are painted a vivid raspberry color, and her hands frame her face like bird wings, her fingernails a striking teal. There are numerous clips in her hair, and her eyeshadow is a different color on each eye. The caption reads: BRING HARAJUKU TO YOUR CAMERA WITH THESE 5 FASHION TIPS FROM MODEL, TAKAMAKI ANN. 

He raises his eyebrows, then shrugs. Figures she'd be a model. Akira wonders how many boys she's had to turn down. Maybe not as many as she should be, if she's sneaking around Shinjuku at night with men twice her age. Akira pours the coffee into the mugs, then passes them to the two girls, giving them abrupt smiles. 

The fluffy-haired one peers at his face, then lights up like a lightbulb. "I know you! You're a second-year at Shujin, no?" 

Akira nods, rubbing the back of his neck. "You got me. I'm Kurusu Akira." 

She shakes his hand. "Okumura Haru. I'm a third-year. I take care of all of the plants around the school." 

Takamaki takes a sip of her drink, looking at him from over the rim of his glass. "We've met." 

They all look at each other in silence for a moment, then Akira returns to washing the dishes. After they finish their drinks, the pair leave. Okumura leaves a generous tip. Niijima scowls after them, and eventually, those two leave, as well. The café is empty, the only sound echoing around the walls is the running tap, gushing into the drainpipe. Akira can feel the rumble of the train underneath the soles of his shoes if he focuses. 

The train violently swerves, narrowly dodging the platform. Shadows lumber to and fro, boarding the train like herds of businessmen, sans the briefcases. They groan and growl, shoving each other on the train. A few humanoid Shadows take the seats, their saffron eyes glowing like silkworms. 

Yuuki holds one of the hanging loops from the bar running across the top of the carriage. The train lurches off again, and it slithers across the tracks like a millipede. The stones throwing themselves against the tracks tick like mandibles. Lights pass through the windows, flashing scarlet every time they pass an opening. 

He sighs, kicking the floor out of boredom. _That_ feeling creeps up on him again, and he feels something twist inside of him. His hand makes a fist over the handhold, and suddenly, he isn't on the train anymore. 

He's standing in front of the exit. He's never been here more than once, when he woke up in the middle of an empty, dark Shibuya, a chant sounding in his mind like a drum.

_Like me, want me, need me. Like me, want me, need me._

Something is telling him to go outside. To abandon this mindless slog to the heart of Mementos. He swallows, then places a hand on the door, feeling the hum of life on his palm. Light creeps under the doorframe as Yuuki pushes the doors open, and comes face to face with a decadent lounge. 

Shadows dressed in sharp suits loiter around the place, dragon tattoos snaking around their bodies. Yuuki looks down and takes in the way he's wearing a suit of his own. The tie is undone, the blazer is draped over his shoulders like a cape, and his hands are adorned with rings. A sudden surge of confidence fills him, and he snaps his fingers. 

"Hey! What are you all sitting around for? Get on your patrol duty. You know what happens if I get targeted by that killer." He barks, letting the Shadows lift the blazer from his shoulders.

He rolls up his sleeves, letting the light catch on the golden dragon tattoos stretching across his forearms. This must be his Palace. If his research was right, this means he's no longer a part of the public's Palace. Good. He's above them now. He just has to keep his Treasure close. 

"Get me Kurusu!" Yuuki demands, lighting up the cigarette that materializes in his hand. He's not sure why he knows the boy would be here, but when he turns around, Kurusu Akira stares back at him, a shiny collar around his neck. 

"What do you need, oyabun?" Kurusu says, adjusting his black, leather gloves. 

Yuuki takes a drag of his cigarette. "Keep the security tight. Get me a map of the place, and mark down where the treasure is, too. I want this place stronger than Fuchu." 

Kurusu smiles like a fox. "Yes, sir. Anything else?" 

Yuuki gives the boy a once-over, taking in the weapons holsters adorning his limbs. His most prized guard dog. Making that deal with Kurusu was the best thing that ever happened to him. 

"Not right now. You're dismissed, Kurusu." He waves him away, but sneaks a glance at the retreating figure. He stops in the doorway, looking over his shoulder. A small shiver runs down Yuuki's spine. Kurusu leaves without another word, his hand trailing the wall as he disappears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> makoto needs a shot of caffeine straight into her bloodstream. everyone says she'd be a good team mom, but in reality, she would try for five minutes then give up and have an entire bottle of vodka.  
> i love her.


	9. resentment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group makes a decision.  
> A stowaway finds her way into a world where she's met with a princess who deems her worthy of proceeding.

Ryuji taps his pencil on the side of the desk, repeatedly. Futaba's eye twitches, but he shows no sign of stopping. She tries to continue typing, but the noise is slowly driving her insane. Peering over her monitor, she watches as Ryuji stops, then twirls his pencil to his index finger and starts tapping again.

Futaba slams her hand over the pencil. "Will you _please_ stop that?"

Ryuji jumps, but smiles apologetically. "Yeah, sure. Sorry 'bout that."

They go back to waiting in silence, Futaba occasionally clicking her trackpad. Ryuji looks around the room. Futaba sent him the location, but he wasn't entirely sure where he was. To him, it looked a little bit like someone's old study, but if they put the study in a shed. Books lined the walls, some of them in English, but all of them detailing something about cognitive psience. A framed photograph of Futaba and a woman with short, dark hair sits on the desk next to the keys. Ryuji isn't generally known for his detective skills, but he's pretty sure this is Isshiki Wakaba's old office. He wonders where she's working now. 

"Shit, sorry, I'm late," Akira says, pushing the door open with his shoulder as he tries to balance an entire tray of coffee mugs and curry plates. "Couldn't find the tin foil, so I used cling wrap. The food's a little cold, but it's still good!"

Ryuji grins widely, then helps Akira set the items down on the table. "No worries, man. This looks great."

Futaba shuts her laptop down, reaching for the curry. "Akira, you're my savior. You have no clue how much I've been craving curry." 

He tosses her a fork, and she catches it. Akira brushes the hair from his face, then exhales. "Where are Yusuke and Goro?" 

"Yusuke's on the train. Dunno where Goro is." Ryuji swallows his mouthful, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

As if on cue, Goro opens the door, his phone pressed to his ear. He sent them a small wave, then closed the door behind him. "That's not what I meant. Sir, with all due respect, I'm fairly certain that Niijima-san will be on this case the second she gets back."

He pauses, then hums in agreement. Akira gives him a mug of coffee. Goro mouths a "Thank you," then takes a sip. 

"Shirogane, you _know_ I can do this. I have a new lead, you just have to trust me." He pleads, adjusting his grip on the mug. 

A tinny voice says something incomprehensible from the other side of Goro's phone, and the detective nods. 

"I won't let you down. Tell your wife I say hello. Have a nice evening, Shirogane." He hangs up, then sighs deeply. 

"Rough day at work?" Akira asks, handing him a fork. Goro takes a seat, peeling the cling film away from the curry plate. He takes a bite. 

Placing a hand on Akira's shoulder, he looks into the dark-haired boy's eyes. "Tell Sakura-san he is my god." 

Futaba laughs. "Ditto. This curry is _perfect_!"

Akira rubs the back of his neck. "Actually, I made this batch. I've finally been let into the kitchen." 

Futaba's jaw drops. "Shut up. No way." 

"You're joking. Surely, you're joking." Goro smiles. It's one of his real ones, where it's slightly lopsided, and his nose scrunches a little when he laughs. Akira stares for a little too long, then feels the pang of guilt as he remembers the smile Naoya gave him as Akira fell out of the Velvet Room. 

The door opens again, and Yusuke slips inside, looking slightly bedraggled. "I apologize for my tardiness. I ran into someone I know on the train."

Akira hands him a plate of curry and a mug of coffee. Yusuke looks like he's about to cry. 

"Akira, you are an angel sent from the heavens to show mercy on a wretch like me." Yusuke proclaims, taking a bite of the curry. 

He shakes his head, patting the artist lightly on the arm. "I just like taking care of my friends." 

Futaba pushes her clean plate away from her and opens her laptop. "Okey-dokey, let's get started. Ryuji, you said the whole Niijima thing escalated yesterday?" 

"That's right. She got a death threat like the calling cards the other victims received, but this one was a little wordier. Said somethin' about Suzui Shiho." Ryuji confirms, downing the soda Akira bought him. 

Futaba nods, then glances at Goro. "Okay, Goro, I've sent you a file of the findings we have so far. You can hand that in to your boss, or whatever. "

He nods and thanks her, adjusting his gloves. She continues. 

"Some valuable sources told me that our favorite Student Council President is planning to conduct a whole investigation the second she gets Shujin's Principal's approval. It's likely she won't, which means she'll either take things into her own hands or give up. Either way, she's in danger. I know we voted against doing anything, but the killer has literally said they're going to kill Niijima."

"This proves that the killer goes to Shujin, right? How would they have gotten the calling card into the school?" Akira says, fiddling with a few strands of hair in front of his face. 

Goro scrunches his nose and makes vague hand movements. "It's plausible. They could be paying students, or they could be in disguise. It's rather ambiguous as of now."

Ryuji frowns. "You don't wanna believe high school students can do this shit, can you?" 

"It's a lot to shoulder. I highly doubt that a single high schooler could be a serial killer. Even what we're doing is slightly pushing it." He defends his point, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Ryuji leans in, grinning conspiratorially. "What if we came out and said we'd be the superheroes? What if we made a name for ourselves doing something for society? We've seen what changing hearts can do, so why not reform society?" 

Futaba typing stops, and she peers over the top of her laptop. She doesn't say anything, but she's listening intently. Goro looks like he's heard the worst joke in the world, halfway between laughing and grimacing. 

"Ryuji, you're kidding, right? What we're doing is borderline _illegal_. We can't decide who's worthy of reformation and who's not. And what kind of reformation, hm? Where do we draw the line? How would we know what's right and what's wrong? We're fucking teenagers, Ryuji. We don't possibly know what the true meaning of justice _is_ , let alone enact it." He rants, looking to Akira for confirmation. 

The dark-haired boy bites his lip, then runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, in a perfect world, I guess Ryuji's idea would be nice. But Goro's right. We're already taking on something that's questionable at best. The only reason we're stealing hearts is that stealing hearts is better than having them destroyed." 

Yusuke nods, sliding his empty plate across the table. "I agree. The last thing we need is fame getting to our heads. When we're out in the open, it means we have targets on our backs. We don't know how far the killer will go to get rid of any inconveniences. They may resort to murder in the real world. It's best to stay under the radar, as Futaba would say."

Goro gives Akira a subtle smile, and Ryuji leans back, kicking his feet up on the table. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It wouldn't hurt to get some recognition, though." 

Futaba resumes her tapping. They all sit in silence for a bit, before the ginger-haired girl shuts her computer. 

"Let's scout out Niijima's Palace. It couldn't hurt to help her, and if the killer is going after her, we should keep her safe. That okay?" She asks, putting her laptop into her satchel. 

Akira guesses right when he says the Palace might be the Student Council Room. Ame no Uzume gets a little pacy in his head, and he can hear her grumbling about how bored she was. 

_Sweetness, if I don't get to have a good time soon, I'm going to explode._ She whines. Akira waves her away, leaving Arséne to deal with her. 

He tunes back in to the conversation the group was having, but it's rather hard to keep focus when a large, glowing, blue door is in the corner of your peripheral vision. 

Goro seems to notice it, too. As the others discuss the infiltration plans, they step to the side. Naoya steps out, beckoning the pair closer. 

"Good afternoon, Tricksters. You are not required to enter the Velvet Room, however, you are welcome to enter if you so wish." He says, staring straight at Akira.

Something about him is unsettling. Goro can't quite put his finger on it, but Loki is bristling at his presence. Akira doesn't pick up on it, or he's ignoring his intuition out of hope this "Naoya" would remember him. He places a hand on Akira's shoulder and nods to the rest of the group. 

"We can come back later. If we're not needed, this should be our top priority." He assures him. 

Reluctantly, Akira nods, then turns on his heel. As he walks away, Goro turns to the Warden. 

"I don't know who he thinks you are, but if you have _any_ ulterior motives, I won't hesitate to keep you in check." He hisses. 

The white-haired boy only laughs, his golden eyes cold. "Of course, Trickster. I wouldn't expect it any other way." 

The Velvet Room's entrance vanishes, the oddly vacant look in the Warden's eyes sending a chill down Goro's spine. He'll have to ask Akira about "Naoya" later. For now, he has a heart to steal. 

The Palace consists of three floors, each with a separate turret protruding from the large tower in the vast expanse of a meadow. It seems mostly peaceful, and their clothes haven't changed, so Niijima doesn't perceive them as a threat. Akira peers into the distance and sees a dark shape circle the sky, and he swallows. He signals for the starting lineup to start the first wave of infiltration. Ryuji and Futaba hold back, but Futaba still keeps in touch with them as she points them towards a large door in the tower. 

Akira goes to open it, but it swings open, a girl standing in the doorway. She is dressed in regal attire, with a red waistcoat and a coral blouse. The sleeves puff around the shoulders, giving her an imposing silhouette. A small, gilded crown sits atop her head, gleaming in the light. Her saffron eyes take them in and she frowns. 

"You are not my knight. State your name and business, if you please." Shadow Niijima says, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. 

Goro clears his throat. "I'm Akechi Goro. Your sister and I work together. We've met a few times, but only briefly." 

The Shadow's face contorts into a snarl, her eyes glowing brightly. "Do not mention the Queen's name to me, she's the reason I am trapped here in the first place!"

Akira looks down at her wrists and ankles, noting the manacles encircling them. Goro winces, then backs away. Shadow Niijima casts her hand out, and they are thrown backward, colliding with Futaba and Ryuji. 

"You are not permitted to come any further unless escorted by my knight. Begone, treasonous wretches!" Her voice shrills from across the meadow, and with a splash of color, their clothes melt into their Metaverse attire. 

Shadow Niijima slams the door, and reality starts to melt before their very eyes. Finding themselves standing outside the Student Council Room, they find their feet after recovering from vertigo. Ryuji curses, then paces the hall, grumbling to himself. 

"Dammit! What're we gonna do, now?" He growls, slamming his fist into the wall. "She's in trouble, but she's not letting us help her."

Futaba sighs, running a hand through her hair. "I'm not sure. We have a limited amount of time until the killer closes in, but I'm sure we could try tomorrow." 

"No. Absolutely not. Tomorrow is when the killer will be in the Palace. If we confront them while we're in there, there's no telling what will happen to us." Akira vetoes the idea, shaking his head firmly. 

Yusuke frowns, then turns around, looking around the corner. "Did you hear that?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"Hear what?" Futaba echoes, looking around as well.

Goro is far too deep in thought to answer, leaning against the door with his hand underneath his chin. He looks up, as if he has an idea, but the door slides open. Goro falls backward, scrabbling to get a hold of the doorframe before he hits the floor. A figure behind him flails as well, but neither of them gets a solid handhold, so they fall to the floor in a disgruntled heap. 

Yusuke's eyes widen. "Togo-san? What are you doing in the Student Council Room? You don't even attend Shujin." 

Togo frowns, trying to untangle her limbs from Goro's. "N-Neither do you! I was waiting for Makoto, but she's not here. What's your excuse?" 

Yusuke falters, then looks to the floor. Futaba snorts with laughter, then grabs them both by the front of their shirts, pulling them up. 

"Alright, alright, quit with the questions. I know you heard everything, right?" 

Togo bashfully looks down at the floor in response, fiddling with a strand of her hair. Futaba nods slowly. Ryuji pats Goro down, brushing the dirt from his friend's shoulders. 

Yusuke leans close to Akira. "Togo-san is very close to Niijima. In fact, I don't believe I've seen either of them correspond with anyone else in the manner they do. Maybe this 'knight' we're looking for is her." 

Akira nods slowly, then gives Togo a cautious smile. "Togo-san, since you've already heard about what's going on, would you mind doing us a favor?" 

Goro gapes at him like he's grown a second head. "You're joking. You can't possibly be thinking about bringing someone into the Metaverse without a Persona?" 

"You did that to me." Akira quips, raising an eyebrow. Goro opens his mouth to argue, but snaps it shut once he realizes that there isn't an answer that would make him look good. 

Togo looks around, her brow furrowed. "I'm not sure what you're doing, but I know Makoto is in danger. I cannot sit by and let her be killed. If you're doing something to prevent this, let me join you!" 

Her impassioned cries fall on deaf ears as Ryuji shakes his head. "No way, man. You're not gonna last a minute in the Metaverse." 

Futaba shakes her head, wagging her finger at Ryuji. "Actually, I think she has potential. And if not, we can just use her as a key item. We could assign her a bodyguard, and all that."

Goro narrows his eyes and turns to look at Ryuji. He whispers something in his friend's ear, glancing furtively at Togo. The blonde nods, then rolls his shoulder as he walks forward, sighing. 

"Alright. Togo, was it? Name's Sakamoto Ryuji. I'll keep you safe when we get in there." He says, ruffling the back of his hair. 

Togo looks around, confused. "Where are we going?" 

Goro rolls his eyes. "Akira, hit the button." 

He does as he's told, and for the third time today, the world starts to spin. 

Togo Hifumi has seen many things in her life. She's seen the view from the other side of the camera when she does the shoots her mother sets her up for. She's seen a full-grown man tell her that she's far too pretty to be a shogi player. She's seen a family member die. 

Something she hasn't seen, however, is a fairytale castle. Hifumi takes in the flowering meadow, brushing the long stalks of grass that wave around her waist. Above her, a quiet rumble sounds, and a shadow passes over the bright sun for a moment. Hifumi hasn't seen a dragon before, but there's a first time for everything. She turns around, looking for the others. In their places stand six masked figures, all of them in strange dress. One of them has a sword at their hip, another has a fox tail clipped to their belt. A person with an iron skull mask clamps their hand on her shoulder, nodding to the tower in the distance. 

"C'mon. Let's get you in." They say, running a hand through their blonde hair. 

"S-Sakakmoto?" She asks, looking around at the strange people with fear. The one with a sword at his hip rolls his eyes, and gives her a look from underneath his mask. 

"It's _us_ , Togo." He drawls, "I'm Akechi Goro."

A particularly short one pops up from the grass, waving. "I'm Sakura Futaba! Call me Oracle."

A dark-haired boy with scarlet gloves smiles at her, his coattails streaming behind him in the light breeze. "It's Kurusu under the mask." 

"I'm Kitagawa. Although, if we're going by codenames, I'd like to be called Da Vinci." The one with the kitsune mask says, placing a hand on his hip for emphasis. 

"Pfft, no way. More like Inari." Sakamoto laughs. 

Sakura snorts. Kitagawa looks at them with the most insulted look Hifumi has ever seen. He seems to shake it off and let it slide, but Kurusu butts in, fiddling with a strand of his hair. 

"What about Fox?" He suggests. 

Kitagawa nods. "That will do." 

Sakamoto's eyes widen, and he beams. "Oh, oh, my turn! I wanna be Skull." 

Akechi laughs shortly. "That certainly suits you. What about Akira?" 

Hifumi bites back a smile. Underneath all of the bravado, they're still just high schoolers. She watches them struggle to come up with a nickname for their teammate, suppressing a giggle. 

"So it's settled, then. Akira's codename is Joker." Akechi says, tapping his finger absentmindedly on the hilt of his sword. 

Joker looks to Akechi, placing a hand underneath his chin. "What about you, though?" 

Hifumi took in the black mask, the pointed beak, and the shiny buckles on his person. He resembles a rather princely-looking goth, if she's being honest. Everyone else seems to be at an impasse, struggling to come up with a codename. 

"If I may suggest a codename, what about Crow?" She pipes up, smiling cautiously. 

"Crow," Akechi repeats, mulling it over, "Yes, I think I like it. Thank you for your contribution, Togo-san." 

Hifumi smiles brighter. She's being useful. Good. 

"Alrighty, let's get going. Joker, Fox, and Crow are up on the battlefront. I'll stay out of combat with Skull and Togo-san. Mission start!" Oracle chimes, beaming herself up into the Necronomicon. 

Skull gives her a grin and pats her on the back. "You'll be fine. I've got your back. For now, though, it's best if you stick with Joker. We'll need you as the key." 

Togo nods and walks behind Joker, who gives her a reassuring smile. "We're going to save your friend. I promise." 

When Shadow Niijima stands in the doorway for the second time today, she pushes past Crow and Fox to get to Togo. Her stern face melts, and she gazes at her with adoration and sorrow. 

"My knight, why are you affiliated with these thieves? Where is your armor?" She asks, gently placing a hand on the side of Togo's face. 

The girl stutters, her face heating up. "I-I..." 

Shadow Niijima's face hardens, and the delicate hand cupping her face turns into a firm grip on her chin. 

"You aren't my knight. Who are you?" She demands, looking at the girl imperiously. 

"I'm your best friend, Makoto! Why are you dressed like this? Where are we?" She replies, the tips of her ears burning red. The princess raises an eyebrow and peers closer, examining Togo's face with scrutiny. She releases her, then steps aside. 

"You have Makoto's best interests in mind, correct?" Shadow Niijima questions, "Then you may proceed. You may not be _my_ knight, but you are hers." 

The climb up to the first turret is nothing short of torturous. After climbing the seemingly endless stairs, the group stops in the doorway to catch their breath. Skull hands Togo a water bottle, and she accepts it graciously. The turret contains a throne room, draped in velvets and silks and other decadent materials, all shining with luster in the light streaming through the windows. A golden throne sits at the end of the corridor, a large diadem sitting on the soft cushion. Shadow Niijima sits in a smaller, silver throne to the side, kept just out of the light. 

"My sister is legendary. She was an honor student who graduated at the top of her class and held the record for the most impressive score on her entrance exam for her college. After the deaths of my parents, she became the leading figure in my life. I wanted to be like her. Other people wanted me to be like her. It was stifling when I started to grow into my own personality." She monologues, sulfur eyes glinting in the shadows. 

Hifumi winces, biting her lip. She knows how Makoto feels about her sister, even if she didn't say it out loud. There has always been a resentment for the one person she could never surpass.

The princess' shackles rattle as she gets up, stepping into the light. "She's off on a business trip, right now. She can't hold me to her impossible standards when she's in Kyoto, so others do it for me. The Principal, my peers, and even my sister's co-workers." She reaches for the crown sitting on the throne, and a wisp of smoke drifts from her fingertips as her skin grazes the metal. "I can never be like her."

The suits of armor lining the walls start to twitch, and Skull steps in front of Hifumi, brandishing his pipe. The animated sets of armor bubble, black ooze running through the cracks in the iron, staggering towards the group like broken marionettes. The princess stares at them blankly through the small army of Shadows. Hifumi blinks, and she's gone. 

"Shit, Joker, there's a lot of them!" Oracle warns their leader, but he only draws his dagger from the holster on his thigh. 

"Crow, do what you want. Fox, can you get our accuracy and evasion up?" He asks, dodging a clumsy swing from one of the suits of armor. They nod and leap into action. 

Goemon crackles to life behind Fox, and he mouths a word that brings emerald light down on his teammates. Joker nods in thanks. Crow draws his sword, slicing through one of the Shadows like butter. The black slime splatters across the floor, staining his red blade. He makes eye contact with Joker, then high-fives him. 

Joker grins and summons a goddess behind him, her fans fluttering delicately. "Ame no Uzume, ravish them!" 

She giggles, and snaps her fans shut. Two suits of armor clutch their head, the ooze running underneath the metal bubbling furiously. Their helmets explode, their slime coating the walls and floors around them. 

"Gosh, I'm glad we're not working with humanoid Shadows, here. I just had a packet of Pocky, and I'd like to keep it in my stomach." Oracle mumbles from her Persona. 

Three suits of armor remain, charging Fox. He smirks triumphantly and draws his katana. He sweeps sword in an arching motion, and ice shoots from the floor, impaling the Shadows before they can even get close. 

Their obsidian blood seeps down the ice, and Fox sheathes his katana. 

Joker exhales, shaking out his shoulders. "Alright, let's push forward. Everyone okay?" 

Hifumi stares at the broken metal on the floor, then at the goop dripping from every surface in the room. 

"What the _fuck_?" She whispers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super hyped for the next chapter ngl  
> spoiler alert: it's gay as hell


	10. once and future queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hifumi stands up for what she thinks is right and protects her princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hi hello,  
> this chapter has some discussions about internalized homophobia. please don't read it if you don't think you would be comfortable doing so. this isn't meant to make you upset, this is meant to entertain you. that's what my fics are. but please bear in mind that these kinds of discussions will be recurring themes in the fic.  
> stay safe out there!  
> <3

Togo Hifumi is confused. She's been whisked off to some world where dragons exist, Makoto has a crush on her, teenagers can summon demons, and suits of armor can get up and walk around. Half of her wants to be sick after seeing three boys decimate a small platoon of monsters, the other half of her wants to grab one by the shoulders and shake him until he tells her what's going on. 

She does neither. She's been taught not to, after all. Instead, she climbs the tower, hiding behind a blonde boy with a lead pipe and a ghost pirate. She watches the ground slowly move further away from her as she ascends the stairs, peering through the windows at the meadow below. In the distant sky, a rumble sounds. At first, she thinks it's just a storm coming. Then, behind the clouds, lightning strikes. A silhouette of a behemoth-like monster lights up. Hifumi can see wings, horns, and a tail. At this point, nothing phases her very much anymore. To be honest, she's always wanted to meet the monster who inspired her Dragon-Age Pillar of Destruction move. 

As the group reaches the second turret, a chill comes over her. Gone is the golden light of the Throne Room, this chamber is dark, musty, and cold. The rattle of chains sets her on edge, and Hifumi can barely make out the letters carved into the archway above the hall. 

"'Gaol'?" Oracle reads aloud, confused. 

Crow nods. "Ah, I see. 'Gaol' is an old, Western dungeon. This must be where any repressed feelings she has gather. That last floor must have been her resentment for her sister's success." 

Joker's mouth forms a perfect O, and he adds on to his teammate's train of thought. "So this is her inner mind?"

"That's what I assume. Togo-san, you know her fairly well. Should we expect anything from here?" Crow turns to her. 

What Hifumi wants to scream is: "I have no fucking clue! I don't have unfiltered access to her mind!" 

What she actually says is: "I'm afraid not."

They all shrug, and head into the dungeon, trying to ignore the sound of muffled screaming and groaning. 

The walls are coated with slick, green moss. A rat scurries over Hifumi's foot, and she suppresses a squeak, grabbing Skull's arm in shock. 

"You good back there?" He asks over his shoulder, and Hifumi can tell he's looking at her surreptitiously from behind the mask. 

She bites back her fear, and nods, squaring her shoulders. She's doing this for Makoto. Makoto, the only girl who dared to tell her PR manager off for telling her to show more skin. Makoto, who never laughed at her eccentricity during her matches, only looked at her with wide, admiring eyes. Makoto, who called her strong when no one else thought she was. 

Hifumi will do everything she can to protect her. 

The group progresses along the corridor, then stop when the sound of rattling chains comes from the room next to them. Sitting in a small, circular room, the princess is kneeling. Dim light pours down from the roof, and her hands are suspended in the air by chains. Her doublet is gone, her coral blouse ripped to shreds on the floor, and she is left in only a chemise and her soft leather pants. She looks up at them, breathing heavily. Blood trickles down from where the shackles have been digging into her wrists. 

"Makoto!" Hifumi says, reaching through the bars to give her friend a hand up. She doesn't take it.

Crow hums in thought, examining the lock on the bars of the cell. Hifumi pays him no mind, trying to get Makoto to react to her. 

"Makoto, it's me. I'm here, it's going to be okay, we'll get you out of here." She promises, but Joker places a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

"She's not actually here, Togo-san. She's not real." His voice is calm and soothing, but Hifumi still tries the bars again, rattling them furiously. 

Fox perks up, listening intently to the sounds in the corridor. "Hush, now. There is something out there." 

Crow taps the lock with his finger, and it falls open. "Interesting. She could leave at any time, if not for the shackles." 

Shadow Makoto stares blankly at Hifumi, her saffron eyes dull. "You look like my knight." 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Crow cocks his head to the side in curiosity. "Why are you locked in here?" 

The princess looks at him like he's asking her why the sky is blue. "As punishment. Why else?" 

"Punishment for what?" Joker asks, leaning through the bars. 

She scoffs. More blood streams down her forearms, and she shifts, showing the raw, bloody skin where the cuffs have worn through to the muscle. Hifumi wants to be sick. 

"For what I am. Disgusting, unnatural, and perverted. The Queen tried to bring me suitors from other kingdoms, but I didn't respect myself. I fooled around with scullery maids, ladies-in-waiting, and most importantly, I fell for my knight." She laughs mirthlessly, looking at Hifumi with a sad sort of longing. "I ruined her."

Crow's knuckles crack as he clenches his fists. "And you believe that you need to be punished for this?" 

The princess nods. 

"You disgust me." He spits. "How _dare_ you think of people like yourself like this? What does it matter who's fucking who? It shouldn't be up to you to persecute yourself. There are already people out there who jump at the chance to express hatred, why take their place when you could be protecting other people like yourself?" 

Hifumi winces at his crass language but finds herself agreeing with him. If Makoto really was hurting herself over who she loves, she's just doing awful peoples' jobs for them. She stands up, a determined look on her face. 

"Makoto, if it's really you, you should know that this isn't like you. You're always protecting the weak, keeping the balance at school, and making sure your actions are just! You didn't _ruin_ me, I have always been like this. I only recognized it when I spent time with you. Makoto, I'm going to get you out of this, I promise. And when I do, we are going to have a very long talk about acceptance!" She promises, her hands on her hips. 

Crow nods at her out of respect, a new look of admiration in his eyes. Hifumi smiles at him. He probably needed a long talk as well, but Hifumi isn't the right person to do it. 

The princess looks up at her with bright eyes and gives Hifumi a small smile. "You really are like my knight. It's a shame I have to kill you all." 

Hifumi chokes, her blood freezing in her veins. Heavy footsteps come thudding from around the corridor, and more animated suits of armor come storming through the halls. Skul shoves her out of the way, and her back hits the bars of Makoto's cage. She wraps her hands around the bars in fear as the suits of armor encircle the group. Oracle shouts something Hifumi can't hear over the clash of steel as Skull blocks a sword from cleaving her head in half. Joker summons another Persona, and a winged figure appears behind him. Their wings unfurl, shooting sharp feathers into the Shadows like bullets. Hifumi whips her head around in time to see Crow summon a large, shining Persona with a bow as long as he was tall. 

"Robin Hood, strike them down!" He roars, and for a brief moment, Hifumi swears his clothes looked white. 

A large arrow spears through two Shadows, splattering black goo over the walls. Fox holds his arm in the air, and icicles revolve around him, rotating in circles. He clenches his fist, and they plunge into the group of Shadows peppered with Joker's feathers. 

"My, my. You'll get far after all." Makoto says, glowering behind Hifumi. With a flash of light, she vanishes, leaving the manacles to sway from the ceiling, blood dripping onto the stone floor. 

Hifumi decides that the worst thing about this situation is the stairs. She can handle being covered in Shadow guts and running from traps, but she draws the line at stairs. She pants, leaning against the wall as she catches her breath. Joker turns to look at her, his hands in his pockets. 

"Togo-san, it might be best if you stayed here while we explored this floor." He says. 

She nods reluctantly. "Fine. I'll wait here. Just don't hurt Makoto, please. She doesn't know what she's doing." 

Crow nods. "Sounds fair. Skull, stay with her. Oracle, with us." 

They vanish into the turret, their footsteps receding. Hifumi looks out of the window, watching the clouds pass over the meadow. It's rather picturesque. A lake lies in the distance, reflecting the hills like a large, still mirror. There are small islands of flowers on the lake, and Hifumi assumes the water isn't too deep. The field's colors range from pale pink to light gold, the long grass swaying in the wind. In the distance, the clouds flash again, the storm getting closer. Hifumi looks up to the top of the tower, watching the light fall from the roof. It seems to be open, with columns holding the circular roof up. She leans out on the stairwell, trying to get a good look at the top. 

A hazy barrier blocks her line of sight. If she looks at it too hard, her head starts to hurt. She slumps against the wall, tucking her knees to her chest. Like this, she's useless. The clouds of the storm grow ever closer, and in their wake, the skies turn dark. The flowers underneath the clouds start to change color, turning into pale blues and purples as the thunderstorm slowly creeps across the sky. 

Skull pushes his mask to the top of his head and comes to sit down next to her. She tucks her hair behind her ear, staring at the floor dismally. 

"Hey, what's up?" He asks, softly. 

She shakes her head. "Nothing. This is just... Well, it's all very strange." 

They're quiet for a moment, the distant rumble of thunder sounding through the air. 

"When I first arrived in the Metaverse, I got real scared. Everyone in the first Palace I entered looked like real people, and the owner was real shitty to them. I felt like I couldn't do anything." Sakamoto says, scratching at the floor with his fingernail. "Goro was in that Palace with me. We got cornered, and I thought we were gonna die. At that moment, I knew I had to do _somethin'_. So then Captain Kidd came to me."

He scratches the back of his head, pausing. 

"Yes?" She prompts him, turning to face him. 

He grins apologetically. "I, uh, kinda forgot what I was gonna say, but the main point is that no matter what you're doing, you're helping. So there. You're helping." 

Hifumi stares at him, speechless. He stares back at her, and she starts giggling. She continues to laughs loudly, and Sakamoto shakes his head in disbelief, but he's laughing too. 

"What's so funny, man?" He says, struggling to catch his breath. 

Hifumi wipes a tear from her eye. "Oh, it's just... You're so _wise_ , Sakamoto-kun." 

He throws his head back with laughter. "For real? You think _I'm_ wise?" 

"Yes! You're very kind, and you seem very intuitive." She says honestly, her face hurting from smiling so hard. 

Sakamoto beams at her as if she's given him a medal. "Thanks, man! Oh, and can I, uh, call you by your first name? I feel a little awkward callin' you Togo-san all the time." 

"Of course, you can call me Hifumi. Do you mind if I call you Ryuji?" She asks. 

He beams, giving her a thumbs up. "Sure, man! So, you're a third-year at Kosei, right?" She hums in confirmation. He blushes a little and leans in, whispering, "So, uh, do you know if Yusuke has a girlfriend or somethin'?" 

Hifumi raises an eyebrow. "You should ask him yourself." 

Ryuji coughs, averting his eyes. "But, like, what if he thinks-" 

"There is no harm in asking, Ryuji. And if he doesn't, I'm sure he'd be willing to get to know you." She chides, smiling smugly. 

"So is he, y'know..." Ryuji makes a vague, shrug-like motion. 

Hifumi stares at him, blinking owlishly. "Ryuji..." 

They're interrupted by footsteps slapping the stone. The three others return, Oracle in tow. Crow is bleeding heavily from a wound in his side, and Joker's phasing in and out of consciousness, leaning heavily against Crow. Fox blasts ice out behind them, trying to make a wall thick enough to withstand the torrent of Shadows behind them. 

"Fuck, Joker!" Skull says, leaping into action. He takes Joker's limp arm and drapes it over his shoulder, helping Crow get him away from the conflict. They lay him down on the floor beside Hifumi, who leaps into action. 

"Quickly, take off his coat." She orders, pushing her hair back from her face. 

Crow peels the bloody coat from Joker's prone body, tossing it to the side. He looks over his shoulder. "Skull, go protect Oracle. I'll handle this."

The blonde nods, slipping his mask back over his face. Hifumi snaps her fingers to her left, and Crow scrambles to move. 

"Prop his head up. What happened?" She demands, unbuttoning his dress shirt. 

Crow looks at the floor like it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. "He got hit with a bless spell. I'm not quite sure how the damage works, but he killed the angel that cast it. The blood isn't his." 

Hifumi examines his chest, then checks his pulse. "Is there any counter damage we could inflict to balance it out?" 

"What, like a blood transfusion, but with magic?" He asks, removing Joker's mask from his face. 

Hifumi nods, prodding his torso for any broken bones. "Do any of you deal with that kind of magic?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Crow says, sliding his mask from his face. "However, this seems like an incredibly risky plan. Are you sure we can go through with this?" 

Hifumi gives him a hard look. "It's either that, or we leave him like this. Which would you prefer?" 

Crow gulps, then calls Loki to his side. The energy radiating from such a monstrous Persona would have made Hifumi pass out, but she sees the gentleness in Crow's hands as he cradles Joker's head in his lap, and she isn't afraid. Loki's jaws open slightly, and deep, rumbling voice murmurs something only Crow can make out. He nods, slipping off his black, silk gloves. 

Hifumi watches as he places his right hand over Joker's heart, a red glow emanating from underneath his palm. She bites her lip and prays that her logic checks out. Underneath Crow's hand, Joker twitches, color returning back to his face. Loki whispers something else, and Crow removes his hand, putting his glove back on. 

"Kurusu, can you hear me?" Hifumi asks, checking his pulse again. 

Groggily, he rubs his eyes. "I think I just died." 

Crow grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him. "If you ever do that again, I'm going to kill you myself." 

Joker snorts, then props himself up on his elbows. "Noted."

Fox sighs, tapping his ice wall to see if it's stable. Skull shoots him a grin and gives him a two-fingered salute. 

"That floor was Niijima's wrath, apparently. She has a lot of pent-up rage." The artist says, looking back at the blocked off corridor.

Oracle whistles through her teeth. "That girl is scary as shit. Impressive." 

Crow winces as Joker applies the wound dressing to the gash in his side. The dark-haired boy glances up apologetically, passing the bandages around his waist. He looks up, watching the skies overhead darken. 

"The storm is passing over us, now. The final floor should be open to us." Crow notes, watching the rain start to pour through the hole in the ceiling. 

"Are you going to proceed like this?" Hifumi questions, fiddling with a strand of her hair. 

Fox brought his mask down over his face. "We have no other choice. The deadline is in a few hours, and we do not want to risk confronting the other Metaverse user." 

They ascend the stairs, the temperature of the air dropping drastically. Hifumi gazes out at the meadow, taking in the colors of the storm. The flowers are no longer pink and yellow, but blue and silver, glinting like diamonds in the torrential rain. She stays under the awning of the roof, but the rain streams through the open roof. To her left, a large pathway leading away from the tower stretches out, just outside of the storm's reach. 

Laying on a bed of flowers, the princess sleeps, the meadow still bright below her. As the group takes shelter under the awning, lightning flashes. A shape is silhouetted in the clouds, and there is a deafening roar. Black scales slither from the mist, shining like onyx in the rain. A dragon hurtles through the air, diving close to the tower. Oracle screeches as shingles from the roof fall down the height of the keep. 

Down in the storming field, a figure stands in the rain, glowing white in the gloom. The dragon hurtles towards them, and a flash of light temporarily blinds Hifumi. As she blinks, she sees the figure battle the dragon, a shining sword in their hand. 

"I think that's _you_ ," Skull says, peering through the sheets of rain. 

Hifumi doesn't reply. 

Fox glances down the tower, and gasps, his face paling. "The Shadows are scaling the walls." He shoots a few icicles down the length of the tower, but they ricochet off of the hardened slime. Oracle brings up her holographic map and taps a few buttons.

"They've ditched the armor, but they're stronger now. Togo-san, get in the middle," She orders, but Hifumi walks past her, stepping onto the walkway. "Togo-san?" 

She turns to face them, her face cold. "I will not take any more of this! I cannot be inactive at a time like this. I refuse to be a burden any longer." 

The dragon circles back around, abandoning its fight with the White Knight. With a piercing screech, it dives for Hifumi. She leaps out of the way, watching the roof collapse behind her. The beast grips the stone, staring into her eyes with a look that could melt titanium. She doesn't stand down, staring right back at the beast. Behind it, the others struggle to hold off the horde of Shadows. 

A dull ache starts to throb in her head, and she clenches her fists. The sound of the group's screaming becomes so loud, she thinks her ears are bleeding. The ache swells into unimaginable pain, causing her knees to give out. The dragon shoots into the air, disappearing into the clouds. Lightning flashes, and thunder rumbles, the rain bucketing down on Hifumi. She holds her head in her hands, moaning in pain. 

_Is this how you repay them? They saved your life, and now you let it go to waste?_

She coughs rainwater out of her mouth, writhing in pain. Her heel shifts close to the edge of the stone, and pebbles hurtle down for more than a hundred feet, slick from the rain. 

"Shit! The dragon's gonna dive!" Oracle screams, holing up in her Persona as the Shadows claw at the surface. 

_Set yourself free from the stone and strike!_

Hifumi sinks her teeth into her cheek, tasting blood. A mask appears on her face, and she screams, the pain so intense she can't breathe. She grips it with one hand, then the other, and tears it from her skin. The blood splatters onto the stone walkway, only to be washed away by the rain. 

_So be it. Walk the path of no return, my once and future Queen!_

The dragon roars, a flash of lightning reflecting off of its obsidian scales. The others watch as Hifumi stands in the rain, a large coat hanging off of her shoulders. The epaulets glint gold in the gloomy light, and she raises a hand to the sky. 

"Heed my call, Excalibur!" She cries, stretching her gloved fingers in the rain. A large, golden sword appears in her hand, and she lifts it as if it weighs nothing. Emeralds glint along the hilt, and she adjusts her grip. 

The dragon hurtles past her, and she brings the sword down, severing its head in one stroke. 

"Holy fuck." Oracle whispers, watching the lifeless body slump against the tower, and fall to the ground. The Shadows slow in movement, sloppily melting into viscous puddles of ooze. Joker steps back, pulling Crow with him. Fox hangs from a pillar, looking out at the meadow. 

"The White Knight is gone." He murmurs, then turns to alert the rest of the group. 

He almost collides with said Knight, who smiles triumphantly at him. "Worry not. The storm has passed."

She walks out onto the walkway, the rain slowing around her. Hifumi stares at her, watching as she approaches the princess. Her steel boots click against the crystal steps, shining like diamonds among the flowers. The princess lies, asleep, facing the sky in a glass coffin. The White Knight smiles fondly down at her, then gently lifts the coffin lid up. 

With her helmet tucked under one arm, the White Knight tucks her long hair behind her ear and bends down to brush the stray flower petals from the princess' face. The Knight inclines further, gently brushing her lips against hers. The princess stirs, and the Knight draws back a little, watching her eyes flutter open. The princess smiles, bringing her arm around the White Knight's neck to kiss her again. 

Hifumi's face heats up as the Knight scoops the princess up, bridal style. They all watch as the pair slowly fade into shimmering lights, beaming up through the clouds. As the beacon of light shines through the receding storm, a figure floats through the air, slowly descending. Hifumi walks to the end of the walkway, watching the real Makoto drift through the sky. She holds out her arms, and Makoto falls into them, her hair floating around her face. 

Hifumi twirls her away from the edge, still holding her close. They look into the eyes of each other for a moment, Makoto knotting her hands behind Hifumi's neck. 

"Hifumi, you..." She trails off, her cheeks dusted pink. 

Her best friend smiles widely. "It's you. It's really you." 

She cups the side of Makoto's face, then kisses her, pulling her closer by the waist. 

"Oh, my God. This is giving me cavities." Futaba grins, slipping her mask to the top of her head. 

Yusuke nods, making a picture frame with his fingers and smiling softly. "This would make a lovely painting." 

Akira peers closer, still supporting Goro. "Is Niijiama's face... Glowing?"

"I think so," The detective says, squinting. 

Sure enough, Niijima's face glows with blue fire, a mask appearing on her face. As she kisses Hifumi again, it bursts into lots of blue butterflies, leaving a large motorcycle in their wake. 

"Hold the fuck up," Ryuji yells, gaping at the Persona, "How come those two get a huge sword and a motorcycle as a Persona?" 

Futaba doesn't even hesitate. "It's because they're gay, Ryuji." 

Yusuke frowns. "Are you sure that's why?" 

"Yep," Futaba says, popping the P. 

Niijima gets on her motorcycle, revving the engine. "I'm not going to forget this feeling. With Johanna by my side, I'll go full throttle, non-stop!" 

The walkway started to crumble, and bricks started falling from the walls of the tower, smashing into clouds of dust at the bottom. Hifumi is pulled onto the back of Johanna, and Niijima drives down the side of the tower, narrowly avoiding the falling debris. Once they reach the bottom, Hifumi waves them down. 

"Open the app as you fall! It'll work, I promise." She calls up to them. 

Futaba shrugs, then steps off the edge of the tower, fiddling with her phone as she plummets to the floor. Akira's grip on Goro's shoulder tightens, but the plan works. Futaba falls into the normal world, waving at them from the halls of Shujin. 

Ryuji laughs, then jumps off the side, giving Yusuke a jovial salute as he falls backward. The dark-haired artist laughs, then follows suit, jumping just as the top of the tower starts to crumble. 

"If we die, I'm leaving everything to my cat," Akira says, then politely gestures for Goro to go first. 

The older boy gives him a strange look, then falls through the air, vanishing through the strange rip in reality. Akira hops off of the decimated stone, just as the entire tower crumbles to dust. Hifumi and Makoto appear behind him as he stumbles into the school corridors. 

Goro laughs as he finds his footing, leaning against the wall. "You certainly are something, Akira." 

Akira grins. "And why's that?" 

"You don't have a cat," Goro says, as if he's trying to reinforce the idea that Akira's statement was a joke. 

"Oh," He says, finding it to be true, "I could have sworn I was meant to have a cat." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternative title: useless lesbians reenact traditional heterosexuality to smite society in the face


	11. stability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira unwinds for a few weeks but finds it rather difficult when he has the feeling he's been watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: sexual harrassment and non-consensual touching.  
> this chapter can be upsetting for some readers! please take care when reading :)

_The Warden sits in the Velvet Room, shuffling the deck. He doesn't do much else. His only other entertainment is the Trickster, but keeping up appearances is difficult and tiring. So he shuffles the deck, watching The Emperor and The Empress join The Fool's merry little group. Now that they're upright, they no longer stand out as they did._

_But The Tower has been acting up recently. The Warden sighs. It was only a matter of time after all. He picks up the card and turns it over. It shivers, then creeps slowly towards The Fool, only to dart back when it gets too close._

_"Oh, darling, did you really think he'd love you like that?" The Warden coos, unsympathetically. His gold eyes glitter with malice._

_He clicks his tongue, shaking his head slowly. The cards rustle underneath his gloved hands, and The Justice makes itself known. The Moon follows it, and they are far stronger together than the others. The Warden's smile falls. They shall do what they have to, but a part of him feels sorry for the victims. The part of him is small, however, as he quickly gets over it._

_"All things die, love. Nothing lasts, even you." He chuckles darkly, letting the cards fall to the floor._

_They spread out around him like shed feathers, hitting the stone._

Six weeks pass. Nothing happens. It's the most peaceful time Akira's had in Tokyo yet. 

That's why the group of them are hanging outside, sprawled on a picnic blanket underneath the dappled sunlight of Inokashira Park. Makoto feeds Hifumi a strawberry, stroking her hair as she lays across her lap. Ryuji turns red when he drinks from the same water bottle Yusuke did, looking at him when his eyes are elsewhere. For the first time in months, Akira feels like a teenager again. On Thursdays and Fridays, he makes it a habit to accompany Ryuji to the Gigolo Arcade, where he meets an elementary schooler who teaches him how to wipe enemies out with just two shots from his gun. On Saturday evenings, he browses Jinbocho with Hifumi and Makoto, where he bumps into his homeroom teacher, who smiles as she walks by. On particularly rainy days, he plays chess with Goro and tests his coffee-making skills on him. 

When he combs through Shinjuku with Mishima, he can't help the feeling that he's outmatched by the boy's information brokering skills. Mishima may seem dorky, and maybe on the loserish side (according to Ryuji), but he's kind of brilliant. He knows how to get the information he wants out of Akira, and how to subtly talk to him about the mechanics of the Metaverse. 

After he talks with Mishima, he heads to Crossroads, where Lala teaches him how to mix drinks, apply winged eyeliner, and walk in heels. Sometimes, he meets Goro there, after a particularly hard day at work. Akira learns that his favorite drink is a Negroni, with an extra twist of orange. He takes pride in knowing what his friends like and making it for them. 

That's why he's supplied them with iced coffee on their little picnic. They talk, and they laugh, just like normal teenagers. 

"Akira, what book are you reading?" Makoto asks, peering at the spine of his dog-eared book. 

He shrugs. "I just pulled it off of the library shelf." 

She frowns at the folded pages. "You monster! And a borrowed book, no less. I'm telling the Student Council. Oh, wait." 

Futaba snorts, grinning widely. She bites into an apple, then exclaims loudly, "Holy crap, there's an Eevee in the bushes!" She scampers off, flinging virtual Pokémon balls on her phone. Yusuke raises an eyebrow, then scoffs. 

"What an odd girl." He says fondly. Goro gives him a particularly salty side-eye. 

"That's a rather rich statement coming from you." He mutters. 

Yusuke opens his mouth to argue, but it snaps shut. "I do suppose you're right."

Akira laughs, the light breeze ruffling his hair. Goro gets out his phone, types a quick message, then puts it away. He gets to his feet, dusting off his jeans. 

"I'll be right back. Work just called." He says, giving them all a small smile. 

Ryuji grins. "Boo, killjoy." 

Akira's phone buzzes in his pocket. He opens it, then realizes Goro sent him a message. He reads it, then waits a moment. After some time, he gets up, following Goro into the woods of Inokashira Park. 

"We need to talk." Are the first words that come out of Goro's mouth. 

Akira gulps. The last time someone said this, the worst news he ever recieved in his life was given to him. He shakes the feeling away, knowing this has nothing to do with Naoya.

"Alright. What about?" Akira replies, leaning against a tree. 

Goro keeps his gaze focused on Akira, unrelenting. "The Velvet Room attendant. The Warden." 

A stone drops into Akira's stomach, dragging him down with it. He swallows, the roof of his mouth feeling like it's coated with sandpaper. "What about him?" 

Goro sighs. "You _know_ what. Why does he present himself as someone you know?" 

Akira rubs the back of his neck. If there was a perfect time to tell Goro about Naoya, it would be now. He looks at the detective balefully through his fringe, digging the toe of his boot into the dirt. A bird sings a few feeble notes, then flies off. The space is silent, save for the quiet rustle of leaves against leaves. 

"A while back, before I came to Tokyo, I lived in Inaba." He says, looking up at Goro. He nods, then makes the gesture for him to carry on. "Last year, I was seeing someone. We'd been going out for a while, and I really liked them. Last year, they... Well, they died." 

Goro's lips purse and he opens his mouth to speak. Akira holds a hand out. "It's fine. I'm fine. It was half a year ago." 

"Still, Akira. That's a heavy loss. I'm sorry you lost her." Goro replies. 

"Him. His name was Naoya." He corrects him. Goro's brow furrows. "But he's dead. At least, I thought he was. That 'Warden' person? He looks like Naoya, but with different hair and eyes." 

Goro sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Akira, that's what I need to talk to you about. I don't think-" 

"Goro, I think it's a weird Metaverse thing, but he says that he remembers me." Akira smiles, grinning so brightly that Goro's heart falls. "He's finally come back to me." 

He runs a hand through his almond-colored hair, then looks up at Akira. "You can't trust him, Akira. _Think_ about it. The change in personality, the convenience of it all. I don't know what his motives are, but we have to be wary." 

Akira recoils like he's been struck. "You can't be serious, Goro. Of course, I trust him, I _love_ him." 

"Akira, he's not _real._ He can't love you back." Goro hisses, taking a step forward. For a moment, there is silence. In the distance, the traffic stops, the faint beeping of the crosswalk sounding. Akira's breath is quicker than normal, and his eyes are on the verge of welling up with tears. 

"What would _you_ know?" He retorts, the words barely loud enough to count as real. Goro flinches. His hands clench and unclench, his knuckles whitening. They can't look elsewhere, stuck staring at each other as if they've just challenged the other to a duel to the death. 

Akira breaks it off, turning on his heel to storm off further into the trees. Goro watches his back, cursing himself in his head. As soon as Akira is gone, he hits a tree, scraping the skin off of his knuckles. He hits it again, furious. 

_Calm down, child. This won't help you._

Goro stops, watching the blood well up on his hand. Robin Hood croons again, ever the voice of comfort and reason. Footsteps come up behind him, and Goro turns to see Ryuji, leaning against the same tree Akira did. His brown eyes fill with concern, and he kicks off the tree, coming over to examine Goro's hand.

"What'd you do that for?" He mumbles, fishing around his pockets. Goro doesn't answer, he only lets his hair hang around his face as his jaw clenches. Ryuji clicks his tongue and presses a bandaid to his friend's knuckles. "Y'know, maybe it's best to just let some things play out." 

Looking up at him with a puzzled expression on his face, Goro gives Ryuji a pressing stare, asking for the answers he can't give him. They're still teenagers, despite the weird, magical powers. They don't have the answers most of the time. 

Akira stumbles through Inokashira park, feeling the coldness of dusk start to creep through the trees. Blinded by anger and anguish, he stumbles and catches himself on a tree. A briar tugs through the holes in his jeans, and blood wells up like berries. A twig snaps behind him, and Akira whips around, coming face to face with someone he didn't expect to see. 

"Mishima-kun?" He breathes, the shock fading from his chest. "What are you doing here?" 

Mishima grins bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I saw you run off from the path, and I wanted to check if you were okay." 

Akira's brow quirks, but he exhales in relief. "Oh. Thank you. I'm fine, by the way." 

"No, you're not. You're on the verge of tears, Kurusu-kun. I'm not blind." Mishima insists, placing his hands in his pockets. 

Akira finds himself nodding, bringing a hand to his wet cheek. His shoulders shake with sobs, and he places a hand over his mouth as if it could stop the feelings from pouring out. Mishima gives him a gentle, sympathetic look, and steps forward, holding his arms out for a hug. He accepts, albeit a little awkwardly. 

Mishima hushes him quietly, stroking his hair. "It's not your fault, Akira. Akechi-kun is just like that. You shouldn't have gotten involved with him, all he does is use people." 

Akira's eyes open, and he swallows, the creeping cold starting to set in. Mishima's arms tighten around him, and he shivers. 

"You know, the rumors really _are_ true. He screws people for favors. No matter what he tells you, you have to realize that he's lying. He got on his knees for Kamoshida, for his father's associates, even for Sakamoto. He's a liar, Akira, he _uses_ people." Mishima continues, his voice still crooning softly. 

"Mishima-kun-" Akira starts, but he is interrupted. 

Mishima's arms tighten again. "Call me Yuuki, Akira. Go on, say it." Akira coughs, pressing a hand against the boy's shoulder in an attempt to draw back. Mishima cocks his head to the side, breathing deeply into Akira's shoulder. 

"Y-Yuuki, please let go, you're hurting me." He says, trying to stay as calm as possible.

That seems to snap the boy out of it, and he quickly releases Akira. He staggers backward, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. Akira's eyes dart around for the quickest route out of here, but Mishima picks up on it, smiling nervously. Akira swallows, feeling the palms of his hands start to prickle. 

_Chéri, something is off._

"You said you saw me from the path. How did you know I was talking with Akechi Goro?" He asks, tugging his sleeves over his hands as the rain starts to mist. 

Mishima's nervous smile cracks, not reaching his eyes. "He's a liar, Akira. He's trying to get close to you, trying to _use_ you, and then he'll throw you to the side. He's got everyone else fooled but me. I can protect you from him. You just have to trust me." 

He takes a step forward, removing his hands from his pockets. Akira takes a step back but finds himself pressed against the trunk of a tree. The rain starts to pelt the ground, and it slicks itself against Akira's clothes and hair. 

"Mishima, I need to-" He tries. 

" _Yuuki_. My name is Yuuki, Akira. Call me by my name." He corrects him, surging forward to place a hand on the trunk of the tree, just by Akira's head. He leans forward, smiling at him sweetly as he gently plays with a lock of Akira's hair. 

"You're too smart for them, Akira. You're too pretty, you're too good, you're too perfect-" He breathes, then, as if he can't stop himself, he kisses Akira. 

He struggles underneath Mishima's surprisingly strong grip, but he can't get free. Akira squeezes his eyes shut, and clamps his teeth down on Mishima's bottom lip. It takes everything in him not to shudder as the teeth _snap_ through Mishima's flesh. The boy wrenches his head backward, raising a hand to his bleeding mouth. He runs his tongue over the cuts, grinning. 

"Akira, Akira, Akira... We're not quite at that stage yet. If I had known you'd be so eager, I would have skipped to that part." He drawls, the blood staining his teeth. Akira can't move, his blood freezing like ice in his veins. Mishima grabs him by the collar, hissing softly. 

"My little guard dog," He chuckles quietly, "You shouldn't stick around them." 

Suddenly, Mishima is yanked backward, freeing Akira from his grip. The rain hammers against him, getting in his eyes as he watches Futaba pull a struggling Mishima away from him. He splutters, but before he can get a word out, Futaba punches him square in the nose. He trips over his own feet, then lands roughly on his ass. Futaba snarls at him, then kicks mud in his face. 

"Akira! Jesus, there's blood all over your mouth," She says, then glances back at Mishima. "Shit, we gotta go." 

He gapes at her dumbly as she drags him through the rain, the taste of iron in his mouth tripping his gag reflex. He doesn't dare look behind him, focusing on Futaba's bright, orange hair in the gloom of the rain. She looks behind them and pales. 

"Shit, he's following us! Fuck, we need to hurry. Where's Ryuji when you need him?" She mutters, trying to speed their pace up. 

It's like running through quicksand, pulling someone along whose body isn't quite catching up to their brain. She glances at Akira, at the blood trailing down his face, and she's glad that she got there in time. Behind them, the boy who made this mess is staggering from tree to tree, clutching his bleeding nose, and wiping mud from his eyes. He growls, chasing after them like a drunkard. 

They stumble back onto the path, and running gets easier. The stone is slick from rain, but in the distance, she can see Hifumi, Makoto, and Yusuke waiting underneath their umbrellas. She waves frantically at them, and speeds up, breathless. Makoto drops her umbrella and sprints towards them, clenching her fists. Behind them, the sound of ragged breathing gets louder, and Futaba makes the mistake of looking over her shoulder. 

The boy is only a meter away, his eyes alight with violent intent. He grabs for her, and she trips. Akira steadies her, but he's getting closer to them. Makoto is yelling something, but it's drowned out by the rain. Everyone nearby has fled to the local train station, trying to get out of the unexpected shower. She glances behind her again to see Ryuji make a flying tackle at the boy chasing them. She stops, watching him wrestle the smaller boy into submission, holding his arms behind his back, and pressing his head to the tarmac. 

"Who the fuck are you?" Ryuji demands. Then his eyes widen, recognizing the mud-caked, blood-covered face. 

The boy snarls, kicking his legs wildly. He wriggles free of Ryuji's grip and sprints, kicking him in the shin. Goro emerges onto the path, his shirt soaked to the skin. He watches the boy run off, then takes in the sight of blood running down Akira's chin. 

"Was that Mishima?" He asks, dumbfounded. Akira nods, rubbing the blood from his face. Hifumi runs up to him and drapes the picnic blanket over his shoulders, wiping the remaining blood from his face. 

He doesn't mention that he's been feeling watched since his first night in Shinjuku until they're inside Leblanc. They're toweling themselves off, helping themselves to cups of hot coffee, and sitting Akira down to listen to him. 

"I thought he was harmless at first. You know, like he had a small crush. Sometimes I'd find items missing from my desk or my locker, but that was normal. Then it got bigger. I found him everywhere. It was suffocating because when I caught him, he played it off like it was normal. He acted like he was untouchable, like some kind of kingpin. Referred to me as his protection, or his most reliable benefactor." Akira says, staring at the table. 

Hifumi rubs a circle between his shoulder blades, her hand firm and comforting. Makoto watches from across the table, thunder in her eyes. 

"How dare he? If he's gotten as bold as to chase you and Futaba in broad daylight, what the hell will he do _next_?" She growls, her knuckles cracking. 

Akira looks up, pushing his hair from his face. "He got weird, though. Well, weird _er_. Said he was being followed, or that someone was watching him. He said he was really close to finding something out, he just needed to push a little farther."

Goro hums, avoiding Akira's eyes. "So he's paranoid, obsessive, and borderline insane. A triple threat, to say the least. Try his name in the Nav." He says, nonchalantly jerking his head up to nod at the phone on the table. 

Makoto unlocks it, then types in the name. The phone buzzes and a mechanical "Candidate Found," rings through the air. 

Futaba scoffs. "We didn't even need the Nav to know that. That dickhead's bloody lost it."

She nurses her swollen ankle, leaning against Akira's shoulder like a protective bird. She looks more like an angry budgie, though. Futaba's hair is puffed and frizzy from running through the rain, and she's wrapped in a thick, wooly blanket that reaches to just under her chin. There's a small scratch on her face, nothing deep, that trails from her cheek to the corner of her mouth. It hasn't bled, it's just slightly raised from the skin, a nasty-looking shade of pink. 

Yusuke bites his lip as he looks over Makoto's shoulder, studying the screen of her phone. "He's grown too large for Mementos, then. Should we-" 

He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before Akira interrupts him. "We're not interfering. The deal we made with him takes priority. I know what to do now. I can deal with him myself." 

Hifumi looks uncertain. "Are you sure? He seems fairly dangerous." 

"I can deal with him," Akira repeats firmly. He gives her a reassuring smile.

He makes eye contact with Goro, and the rest of the chatter around the table fades away to white noise as he recalls their earlier conversation. He thinks back to why he was so hostile. The answer scares him. He wants to trust Naoya, he really does. Nothing could ever bring Akira to dislike him, but there is definitely something wrong with the inconsistency in the Warden's personality. The way he knew Naoya's nickname for Akira before he even told him about the missing memories. The way he was so eager to touch Akira, but wouldn't let Akira touch him. 

He stares at Goro, and Goro stares back, ignoring the idle chit-chat around them. Akira's brow furrows, and he opens his mouth to speak. Deciding against it, he shuts it, watching Goro's eyebrow quirk upwards. Akira's gaze falls to the bandaid on his knuckles. It suffered from the rain, and the blood has seeped through the gauze. Goro notices him looking, and folds one hand over the other. 

_You should talk to him, sweetness._

Ame no Uzume rustles her kimono and Akira can hear her gentle smile in her voice. 

After needless talk over whether or not they should act on Mishima's Palace, they come to the conclusion that they shouldn't. Hifumi, in an attempt to raise everyone's spirits, suggests that they visit her grandfather's estate over the summer holidays. They settle out the dates, and Sojiro approves of Akira chaperoning Futaba. He gives them all warm smiles as they troop out the door, following them soon after. He tosses Akira the keys and shuts the door behind him. 

Goro waits at the bar, tapping his fingers against the wooden surface. "Well?" 

Akira turns to face him, his eyes falling to the bandage on his knuckles again. He busies himself by finding the small first aid kit on the shelf before answering. 

"I'm sorry," He says, looking up at Goro through his bangs as he sets the kit on the bar. "I shouldn't have said those things." 

Expectantly, he holds his hand out. Goro eyes it with suspicion, before letting Akira peel the bandaid from his hand. He winces, watching the blood well up. Akira mutters something about the wound being too large for such a small dressing. 

"Thank you," Goro replies, hesitantly, "But there's something else on your mind, isn't there?" Akira pauses while getting the antiseptic out, giving him a wary look. He fishes a cotton pad out from a small pocket in the kit, dousing it with the antiseptic. 

"There is. Something Mishima said to me." He says, dabbing the soaked pad on the gash. "He seems to be quite informed on your... _Escapades_." 

Goro's jaw clenches, either out of pain or anger. "Well? What did he say?" 

"He mentioned something about Kamoshida." Akira pauses, giving him a sympathetic look. "Goro, he didn't threaten you, did he?" 

The detective bristles. His eyes flash, and Akira can feel his hand clench in his grasp. "What did Mishima tell you? Be honest, Akira. I can take it." 

"He said you _did_ _it_. With Kamoshida. And with your father's colleagues." Akira blurts out, pressing too hard on the cut. 

Goro snatches his hand back, his face pale. There is a beat of silence. "Well, he's not wrong." 

Akira swallows, reaching for his hand again. "You didn't answer my question. Did he hurt you? Threaten you?" 

Goro scoffs, letting him wipe the blood from his knuckles again. "What, Kamoshida? That buffoon couldn't hurt me in a way that it mattered. He just... He told me to keep quiet about it. Told me he'd lay off Ryuji for a while." 

In front of him, Goro watches as Akira's eyes grow cold. "He blackmailed you."

"I suppose so." He says stiffly, wincing as the cotton pad snags on his wound. "You really don't need to keep doing this, you know. It's only a small cut." 

Akira ignores him. "I meant your father, by the way." 

There is another pause. Goro gives him a look that would have made all of his hair stand on end when he first enrolled at Shujin. Now, it only makes him wonder how far his father went. "It's transactional. I agreed to do it." He tries, but Akira gives him a stern look of his own. 

"If he had to coerce you or threaten you, then you didn't really agree to it, did you?" He says, picking through the numerous items in the first aid kit. Pulling out another, bigger bandaid, he softens a little, giving him a sympathetic look. Goro scoffs.

"Don't look at me like that, Akira." 

"Why?" He asks, leaning closer, stopping Goro from looking away. When he doesn't answer, Akira doesn't relent, cocking his head to the side. 

"God, fine! I don't want your pity. Just stop doing that." He hisses, red eyes flaring like embers in a fire. 

"Stop doing what?" Akira asks, peeling the paper off of the sticky side of the bandaid. As he presses it to Goro's knuckles, he studies the older boy's face, wondering what he'd seen that made him so wary of help. 

"Looking at me like that!" Goro says indignantly, the tips of his ears burning red. 

"You keep saying that, but I don't understand what you mean." Akira sighs, smoothing down the bandaid. Goro's hand shakes a little in his, and he looks back up at him. There's a beat of silence, and Goro's hand doesn't leave his. Akira realizes just how close he leaned in and watches the way Goro's eyes study his face. 

He blinks slowly, watching Akira's index finger subconsciously trace the rectangle of the plaster. "I'll never understand you." 

"You don't have to understand people to be close to them," Akira replies, quietly. 

"Is that what this is? Being close to you?" Goro asks. He watches Akira's eyelashes flutter against the paleness of his cheek.

The dark-haired boy swallows. "I'm not sure what this is." He admits. 

Goro's hand wants to move upward to touch Akira's cheek, but he's not sure if it's reflexive or if it's what he really wants. He leans in one more inch and the tip of his nose brushes against Akira's. The hand encircling his gets tighter, and his knee bumps against the younger boy's. The ticking of the clock is the only noise in the café, and the lights are dim. Outside, the night is silent, and the trains had stopped running a while ago. 

Akira's cheeks are dusted pink, and Goro can feel his pulse hammering at his wrist. Sick of waiting, he surges forward, catching Akira's lips on his own. He's compliant, his hand squeezing Goro's on the surface of the bar. 

Goro pulls away, then feels his heart drop to his stomach. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure that was appropriate after today." 

"No, no, it was... It was fine." Akira mumbles, quickly packing up the first aid kit. "The trains have stopped running, though. I can set up the couch upstairs if you want?" 

Goro thinks about it, then decides against it. "I'll call a cab." 

He heads to the door, opening it to the warm night air. He looks over his shoulder at Akira, studying his red face. The dark-haired boy avoids eye-contact but gives him a half-hearted wave. Goro is about to leave when he turns on his heel. 

"Thank you. For listening." He clarifies, then his hand brushes over the bandaid on his knuckles. "And for this. Good night, Akira." 

"Good night, Goro," Akira replies, finally looking him in the eyes. 

It shakes him to the core than it should. Goro lets the door close behind them, then curses his existence as he walks out to the main road. He knows he shouldn't have done that. He's not sure how he's going to deal with it now, because the notification on his phone says that Goro's not going back to his apartment tonight. 

He sends Shido a text to let him know he was on his way and shoves his phone in his pocket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've just realized i've accidentally been using my friend's speech patterns for futaba. they are very British and literally sound like emma watson, but if she was more foul-mouthed. sorry if that's confusing lmao


	12. excursion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira serves detention with a particularly chatty individual.  
> The group goes to Hifumi's house by the seaside.

The summer holidays roll in like the heatwave that devastates the classrooms on the last day of term. Akira tugs at the collar of his polo shirt, staring out the window. In front of him, Takamaki texts someone under the table. When Uchimaru notices, he draws his hand back, ready to launch his weapon of choice: The piece of chalk he's sharpened on the blackboard. 

Akira thinks about warning her, but the chalk is flying through the air before he can do anything. However, much to everyone's surprise, the chalk never hits its mark. Takamaki catches it, and with the ease of a tiger, throws it right back. It hits the blackboard with a piercing thunk, and sticks there, before cracking down the middle. A singular shard of it sticks in the small dent she created, and Uchimaru quickly hides his shock. 

"That's detention for you, Takamaki." He drones, adjusting his glasses. Akira snorts, and Uchimaru's stare hones in on him in turn. "What's funny, Kurusu? You'll be there, too." 

Takamaki gives him a goading smile from over her shoulder, putting her phone back in her pocket. He narrows his eyes at her and goes back to looking out of the window. As he stares out the window, he can't help but feel that something is missing from his desk. He shakes the feeling off as class wraps up. 

In the corridor, he hears a familiar voice negotiating with a first-year. Akira turns to see Goro, his hair up in a ponytail. He holds a water bottle to the back of his neck, talking with a short first-year from the student council. She bobs her head in thanks and scurries off. Goro blows his bangs from his eyes, switching hands to hold the water bottle to the side of his neck. Their gazes meet, and the older boy ignores him, leaning against the wall. 

Akira knew something like this would happen. He shouldn't have kissed him back in the first place. He was just very confused. He still is. But he shrugs it off. This won't get in the way of their work. 

"Kirakira!" Ryuji calls out, slinging an arm over his shoulder. " _Man_ , you look tired. Wanna go to the fishing pond today?" 

Akira shakes his head. "Can't. I've got detention. But, I _will_ see you at six tomorrow." 

Ryuji groans, throwing his head back. "I can't believe Makoto's making us get up _so_ early to go on a road trip to Hifumi's place. It's almost like a punishment, y'know?" 

Akira laughs, peeling his friend's arm off to enter the classroom. "You'll survive. See you tomorrow." 

Ryuji waves, and brushes past a few people on his way to the exit. A familiar-looking girl narrowly avoids barreling into him. Akira watches her from the doorway of the classroom, recognizing her as Takamaki's girlfriend. Okumura holds a small bento in her hands, wrapped in a fabric with a pretty pattern. Akira can smell strawberries, and something else so sweet, it makes his back teeth ache. She smiles at him as she pokes her head through the door, looking around for Takamaki. 

"She's not here yet," He says, "But if you need to drop something off, I can give it to her." 

She beams up at him. "That would be very nice of you. Thank you very much." 

Okumura hands him the bento and traipses off. The plastic is cold in his hands, and he realizes that Okumura's packed Takamaki shaved ice, with a cooler strapped to the underside of her bento. Akira sighs. He used to do that for Naoya on particularly hot days. They'd cut Math to go and sit on the roof, sharing the small tupperware of lychee-flavored shaved ice.

Takamaki strides into view, giving the first-years around her an impervious look. A few of them squeak, running off to hide from her. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and looks at Akira expectantly. 

"You're in my way." She states. 

Akira looks at the space between him and the other side of the doorframe. "There's plenty of space. Your girlfriend dropped this off for you." 

He gives her the bento, and she examines him before taking it. Takamaki walks across the classroom to the back, the heels of her boots clicking against the wooden floor, her cold eyes scanning the room. The chair slides across the floor with a squeal as the tugs it away from the desk. Akira takes a desk in the middle, fishing around his bag for his library book, eying her suspiciously. As he flips to where he left off, Takamaki calls to him from across the classroom, her voice icy. 

"Kurusu, move closer. I don't want to yell when I talk to you." She demands, drumming her red nails on the desk. 

He finds himself obeying, rolling his eyes as he takes the desk next to her. "What do you need?" 

She rolls her eyes, unwrapping the bento. A note falls out, and she sweeps it up in her manicured hand, humming distinctly. "God, can't a girl talk to someone because she wants to?" Her joke falls on deaf ears. She tucks the note into the front of her shirt. "Okay, okay, I'm kidding. You know Akechi, right? Pretty boy, fucked Kamoshida a month ago?"

Akira gives her a look of disgust. "You should really be careful about the things you say. I'm his friend, you know."

"They all think that. But that's not a story I want to tell right now. Do you have his number?" She drawls, taking a spoonful of pink ice. Akira gives her a hard stare. She rolls her eyes again. "Please? It's a work thing." 

"Work thing?" He asks, fishing his phone from his pocket anyway. 

She nods, bringing hers out too. "Yeah. His dad's coming to my parents' gala. I was told to find out where he wants to sit." 

Akira raises an eyebrow. "Why would you need his number for that?" 

Takamaki stares at him coldly until he pieces it together. As he rattles off Goro's number, she glances at him. "Y'know, he seems to like you." 

"And how would you know?" He asks, putting his phone back in his pocket. 

Takamaki takes another mouthful of ice. She winces at the iciness of it on her front teeth. "We used to be friends. Me, him, and Sakamoto. Known him since forever. He and Sakamoto grew closer, left me in the dust, you know, the whole shebang." 

Akira raises his eyebrows in shock. He can see how Takamaki and Goro could have gotten along. But the whole situation just seems off. He shrugs it off as she opens her mouth to speak again. 

"So what's your story? How'd you get lumped in with Dumb and Dumber?" She asks, licking red syrup off of her spoon. 

"Goro and Ryuji aren't dumb." He starts, but he closes his mouth as Kawakami walks in. 

She gives them each a tired look, then sighs. "Jeez, what a combo. Do whatever, I guess. I just want to sleep." The pair watch as she collapses onto her desk, promptly starting to snore softly. 

Takamaki swivels back to him, her ponytail swishing behind her. "Well? I saw you following Akechi up to the roof. Did he suck you off or what?" 

Akira splutters, his face heating up. " _Jesus_ , Takamaki, don't you have a filter? He did nothing of the sort!" 

She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, giving him a discerning stare as she brings a compact mirror and a tube of lipgloss from out of her bag. "Sounds like what someone who got sucked off by Akechi Goro would say." 

She puckers her lips as she lines them with a cherry-scented gloss, rolling them together. The mirror snaps shut, and she drops it back into her bag. "Oh, come on, Kurusu. I could feel the sexual tension dripping from both of you from the other side of the hall." She says, tapping her blood-red talons on the desk. 

"He didn't do _anything_. We're just friends, that's all." Akira mutters, sinking lower into his chair. Takamaki concedes. 

She tosses her hair over her shoulder as she says, "Okay, so he didn't give you a blowjob. Did you give one to him?"

Akira wants to crawl under his desk. "I did not! We haven't touched each other!" 

Takamaki smirks at him. "Oh, yeah? I'm sure you're being honest." 

He shoots her a glare. "I'm telling you the truth." 

"Takes a liar to know one, Kurusu." Says Takamaki, and Akira can hear a tone of ruefulness in her voice. 

She quickly hides it with a hard stare. Akira gives her a look in return and decides to unsheath his claws. "So I saw you in Shinjuku the other night." 

Takamaki freezes. Her snarky smile falters, and she glances at the snoozing Kawakami. She reapplies her mask like she reapplied her makeup. She nods to the smaller door near the back of the classroom. "Come on, let's get out of here." 

Akira finds himself in the back alley across the street from Shujin, watching Takamaki light up a cigarette. She offers him one, and he shakes his head. She takes a drag, expertly avoiding her lipgloss staining the paper of the cigarette. 

"You weren't meant to see me in Shinjuku." She says, quieter than before. She looks glamorous, like a filmstar taking a drag of her cigarette delicately. Akira cooly returns her stare, leaning against the brick wall. 

"I'm not meant to see a lot of things, yet here we are." He replies. She huffs out a laugh. 

"You're funny. And annoying. It's part of my job. I don't mind it, though." She continues but then she frowns. "Why am I talking to you about this?"

He shrugs. "I've been told I'm a good listener. People tend to tell me things." 

She hums, then exhales, smoke trailing out of her heart-shaped mouth. "Huh. You don't say." 

Takamaki trails off, then crushes her cigarette under her heel. She gives Akira a final, cold stare, then shrugs. She leaves without another word, her golden hair shining in the summer sun. 

That next morning, at the literal crack of dawn, the group piles into Makoto's old RV. Hifumi sits in the passenger seat, sorting through the maps and flyers in the glove compartment. Ryuji sits in the middle of the second row of seats, sticking his head between the front seats to man the AUX cord. Yusuke sits next to him, staring out of the window at the passing trees. On the other side, Futaba holds her old PSP close to her face, playing some obscure dungeon-crawler. Goro and Akira sit in the far back, praying a traffic cop doesn't pass the boot to find two teenagers desperately clinging to anything dangling from the roof of the car in their desperate attempts to stay alive. 

"We'll change the seating at the next gas station," Makoto promises. She breaks the promise, of course, finding it rather hard to deal with holding Futaba's hair back while she heaved her guts out on the side of the road while managing who is sitting where. 

"I thought I told her to stop staring at that screen for so long," Hifumi mutters, raising a hand to the side of her face. 

Ryuji and Yusuke go inside the gas station for water and snacks, bringing back a travel sickness pill for Futaba, who promptly vomits it up. Yusuke and Ryuji look at each other. The artist speaks first. "I suppose we should have thought that through." 

"Yeah," Ryuji agrees, rubbing the back of his neck.

In the way back of the car, Akira and Goro procrastinate talking to each other about pressing topics, and stick to making neutral comments on the weather, and how much their butts hurt from driving over at least seventy potholes. But Goro knows that they have to address the matter at hand. It would be best to do it while the others were occupied with a dazed and vomiting Futaba. 

"Akira, I think we should talk." He says, crossing his legs. Akira looks up. 

"O-Oh?" He says, rubbing the back of his neck. "You think so?"

Goro looks away, then finds it in himself to make eye contact. "I'm sorry. What I did was unfair, and I shouldn't have done it. I can tell you're emotionally unavailable, and so am I. I would hate to hurt you, Akira, you're a close friend that I've come admire." 

Akira blinks. "Goro, why are you apologizing? It's fine. I thought we'd come to this conclusion. I can only thank you for being so eloquent about it." 

Goro starts to smile a little bit. Akira affectionately ruffles his hair, only to receive a playful kick in return. They laugh in the back of the car, and the tension dissipates from the air. Akira's smile falters slightly, thinking back to Takamaki's statements. 

"Goro, you wouldn't happen to have been friends with Takamaki once, would you?" He asks furtively, leaning back on his elbows.

Goro rolls his eyes so far, that Akira's worried they might roll back into his head. "We were friends for a while in elementary and middle school. She got distant and blames it on Ryuji and me. That girl is pure _poison_ , though. Incredibly manipulative, and she lies like she's breathing. Why?" 

Akira shrugs. "No reason. We were in detention yesterday, and she... Well, she _really_ likes to talk." 

Goro laughs. "Yes, she really does. I'm not sure what Okumura sees in her." 

Akira lets out a short laugh, then nods outside the car. "You dated Ryuji?" 

Goro sighs defeatedly. "Briefly. Didn't quite work out. But you've seen the chemistry he has with Yusuke, no?" 

"God, who _couldn't_?" Akira laughs again, throwing his head back. Goro smiles and gives Akira a quick once-over. 

"You seem happier." He states, tugging his hair out from its ponytail. Akira shrugs. 

"Maybe so." 

Hifumi's grandfather's estate is grand, to say the least. It sits on the hill overlooking the beach, nestled in the trees like a sleeping giant. Vines cover the brick walls, and the maple trees around it are a burgundy color in the sunlight. Hifumi had explained that her grandfather had left the home to her father after his death, and in turn, her father has left it to her. She carries the keys as if they're diamonds, pressing them close to her heart as she waits for everyone to unload their things from the car. 

Makoto pecks her cheek, easily hefting their suitcases up the set of stairs to the front door. When the door is pushed open, a small nest of swallows in the eaves flutters, but doesn't move. Hifumi makes no move to shoo them away. Ryuji's jaw drops to the floor as he looks around the place, his duffle bag falling to the polished, hardwood floor. 

"Damn, Hifumi, your family's gotta be _rich_!" He exclaims peering around the corner into the kitchen, where Hifumi is unloading the groceries. 

She smiles, giggling softly. "Have you found a room, yet?" 

Ryuji's eyes sparkle. "You mean I get to choose?" 

He sprints up the stairs, passing a fully recovered Futaba, who dumps her excessive luggage on the floor and runs after him, screaming, "Hey, wait! I call dibs on a room with the best wifi." Makoto sighs, shaking her head. She's smiling, though. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she pulls it out, reading the caller ID. 

"Hey, sis. Yeah, we got here safe." She says jovially, helping Hifumi unpack the food. She sighs, propping her phone on her shoulder. "No, sis, the RV is fine." 

Yusuke picks Ryuji's duffle bag up, hefting it over his shoulder as he ascends the stairs. Akira follows suit, taking in the scent of the sea air. His knees ache from sitting in the car all day, but he forgets everything when he sees the sunset over the beach. The sand looks golden, and the sea is stained pink like a watercolor painting. Yusuke stops too, staring out of the large window at the end of the landing. 

Akira notices Ryuji looking at the taller boy from the mirror in one of the rooms, a blush spread across his face. He bites back a chuckle, watching Ryuji rapidly draw his hand in a line across his throat in an attempt to shut Akira up. Cupid somehow reincarnates themself in Akira, as he feels the sudden urge to help out. A slow grin spreads across his face. 

"Hey, Ryuji, I'll take the room at the end of the corridor, okay? I can share it with someone else. You can share with someone, too." He says. 

Yusuke perks up. "I wouldn't mind sharing a room with you, Ryuji." 

Akira leaves them to unpack, walking down the hallway. Futaba has already spread herself across the small bedroom at the end of the corridor, the fan on her laptop whirring loudly. 

"Hey, I kindly sacrificed taking a room by myself for modern romance. Will you room with me?" He asks, leaning in her doorway. 

She cackles, "Ha! No." 

He shrugs. It was worth a try. Makoto drags her luggage up the stairs, and Akira leans on the banister. "Hey, look, it's my favorite authority figure." 

"Hey, Akira." She grunts, dusting her hands off as she plops the suitcases down. "What can I do for you?" 

He grins, rubbing the back of his neck. "In an attempt to get Ryuji some action, I promised to room with someone else. You wouldn't share a room with me, would you?" 

She laughs, her nose wrinkling slightly. "Sorry, bud, I'm staying with Hifumi. Have you tried Futaba?" 

He nods. "The gremlin denied my request." From the other side of the hall, she yells something vague, and Akira ignores her. Makoto drags the suitcases into a large room with a queen-sized bed, drawing the curtains open. 

Akira sighs, then enters the only bedroom left, taking in the large space. A window on the furthest wall from the door looks over the forest, the trees reflecting the golden sunlight on their leaves. An old, tarnished mirror stands in the corner, the queen-sized bed in the middle of the room staring back at Akira from its surface. He turns, looking at the white bedsheets, the mahogany headboard, and the distinct lack of another bed. 

"Fuck." He says, simply. 

"What?" Goro says, suddenly appearing behind him. Akira jumps a foot in the air, yelping. "Calm down, Akira, it's just me. What's wrong?" 

Akira runs a hand through his hair. "Oh, it's, uh, nothing. Are you rooming with Futaba?" 

The older boy shakes his head. "She said I'd have to, and I quote, 'Suck it up, buttercup'." 

Akira sighs. The universe was really pushing it on him, today. He nods to the interior of the room. "This is the only one left. I'll see if there's a spare mattress in the attic." 

"Don't be a fool, Akira. I'll take the floor, you unpack." Goro says, turning on his heel to find the ladder into the attic. Akira grabs him by the shoulder. 

"No, really, let me do it." He pleads, "You can take the bed." 

They glare at each other for a few moments, before someone clears their throat from the stairs. Hifumi beams up at them, the smell of what Akira can only assume is dinner wafting up the stairwell. She folds her arms on the banister, nodding to the attic. 

"I'm afraid we don't have any spares. You could share, if that doesn't make you two uncomfortable." 

Akira winces, apologetically smiling at Goro. "I would hate to go past your boundaries." 

"No, I would hate to impose on _you_." He says, one-upping Akira's sympathy. 

They go back and forth until Futaba opens her door, glaring daggers at them. "Shut the fuck up and get in the bed, you idiots." 

And that, after a hearty dinner, is how Akira and Goro find themselves staring up at the ceiling, each of them perched on the opposite edges of a queen-sized bed. They can hear Futaba's video game beeping from through the wall, and they pretend not to hear Hifumi giggling from her room with Makoto. After what feels like ages, Goro sits up, switching on the light. 

"This is unbearable. I'm not going to bite you, and you're practically falling off the side of the bed." He states, patting the space beside him. 

Akira sighs, raising an eyebrow. "Look who's talking. You're halfway to the floor." 

There is a lot of rustling until they find themselves turned away from each other. Akira's back is pressed against Goro's, and they settle. The cicadas chirp outside, and the light flicks off before any moths find their way inside. Akira wonders how he'll get through three more nights of this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today i offer you this. tomorrow? who knows.  
> lmao this is basically the beach episode of the fic.
> 
> i was asking myself "should i make this 'And There Was Only One Bed' or should i stick to slow burn??'  
> i used an online spinner and everything. i got yes twice, so here we are.


	13. one more time couldn't hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group hits the beach.

Akira wakes up early, notices that the other half of his bed is empty, and goes downstairs. The sun is making its way across the sky, gleaming like topaz from the windows surrounding the living room. Akira takes up residence in the kitchen, turning the stove on, prepping vegetables, and cracking eggs into a bowl. 

The eggs sizzle in the pan, and he adds a few dashes of pepper, poking the spatula around the pan. He splashes a bit of milk to make the scrambled eggs fluffier, almost missing the door opening. 

"Look, I told you this already. I don't know what you're doing, but I _am_ staying away as far as I possibly can. He picks favorites, Takamaki, but I can assure you that you're close to the top." Goro says, tugging off his shoes. He has his earphones in and is currently in a heated conversation with Takamaki, if Akira heard that correctly. "No, I'm not taking that task. I'm currently on my break, so have at him. I have to go now, Takamaki. Don't call this number again." 

Goro hangs up, setting his phone on the dresser by the door. He's wearing a thin, white shirt that sticks to his skin, and he seems out of breath. Akira assumes he's just been on a run. Goro still hasn't noticed him, so Akira continues cooking. Only when Goro takes his headphones off does he speak up.

"Do you like your eggs with bacon, or plain?" He calls out, looking over his shoulder. 

Goro jumps out of his skin, hissing in shock. " _Jesus fucking Christ_!"

"Is that how you talk to someone making you breakfast? Anyway, bacon or no bacon?" Akira asks again, piling the scrambled eggs into a glass dish. He places a plate over it to keep the heat inside. 

Goro reties his ponytail, taking a seat at the stone counter. "Bacon would be great. Thanks." 

Akira nods, pulling out the bacon from the fridge and lining the pan with it. They're silent again, and the only sound is the birds singing outside, chirping incessantly. The bacon starts to sizzle after a while, and Akira leaves it to fish around the cupboards for the coffee beans. 

"Any preferences?" He says, holding the bag out. 

Goro shakes his head. "Whatever you're comfortable making." 

Akira nods, then examines the pistachio-colored, Italian coffee machine. It's sleek, elegant, and Akira has no clue how it works. Goro sees his struggle, and comes over to investigate. They hum and grumble over the unnecessary amount of buttons, but they eventually figure it out. Akira leaves the machine to Goro as he leaps to rescue his bacon. 

"So-" 

" _Yes_ , Akira, that was Takamaki Ann. She works for my father. When her parents passed, he took her in. It's not on paper, but we're basically adopted siblings." Goro says, pouring out the coffee into two mugs. 

Akira frowns. "She asked me for your number saying that her parents were hosting a party or something." 

"I told you, she lies like she breathes. She's feeling... Well, _threatened_. She's always been competing for the title of 'Favorite Adopted Child'." He admits, handing one mug to Akira. 

The dark-haired boy frowns, taking a sip of his coffee. "You mean which child he's using is doing more work to benefit him, right?" 

Goro rolls his eyes. "We're not talking about this now, Akira. It's barely past six. Therapizing me can wait." 

"I'm not therapizing you, I'm just doing what a friend _should_." He retorts. 

There's a beat of silence. The sizzling grows louder, and the pan spits grease. 

"You're burning my bacon." Says Goro. 

Hifumi and Makoto are the last people to wake up, trooping down the stairs in each other's clothing. Ryuji raises an eyebrow, grinning at Hifumi, who blushes madly but accepts his fist bump. Makoto ignores them, choosing to focus on the spread of food across the table. 

"Wow. Akira, has anyone ever told you that you'd make a wonderful housewife?" She says. Akira laughs. 

"Makoto, is this a proposal?" He chimes, raising the spatula to his mouth in a demure manner. 

She shrugs. "I'd consider it. Tax benefits, food like this..."

"And I'm cute, to boot." Akira grins. 

Futaba rolls her eyes, chuckling quietly. She closes her laptop and moves it to the side, recovering her long lost table manners. Akira sets a plate down in front of her, and she helps herself to the fruit he cut up earlier. 

Ryuji takes a large spoonful of eggs, chews for half a second, and promptly starts speaking. "Oshkay, scho what are we doing todaysh?"

"That was barely comprehensible, Ryuji. I'm almost impressed." Hifumi says, her brow slightly furrowed, "But I thought we might go to the beach! The weather looks lovely, and the tide isn't too high." 

Yusuke perks up, his fine-boned face lighting up. "That would be most pleasant!" 

Ryuji looks at Akira, his brown, puppy-like eyes pleading, and Akira can almost hear the words being projected into his brain: _"Bro, he's killing me. Why does he talk like that? I love him."_

Futaba makes a face at the mention of beaches. "Ew, does that mean we'll have to encounter sand?" 

"What are you, Anakin Skywalker? You'll survive a little sand." Goro says snarkily, accepting the plate Akira's handing him. 

Futaba scoffs. "No matter how I progress in this conversation, I will only look like a huge nerd. But _you_ made the reference in the first place, so the joke's on you." 

Akira sits down, picking up his fork. Looking around at his friends, he can't help but feel that this is where they're all meant to be. Makoto and Hifumi mothering the group, Futaba affectionately antagonizing Yusuke by messing with the color scheme of his plate, Yusuke retaliating by setting his glass of orange juice (safely!) on top of Futaba's computer, Ryuji laughing at the whole ordeal. When he gets to Goro, he finds that the older boy is looking straight at him with ferocious intensity. There isn't any malice in his gaze, he just seems to be focused on Akira's face. He feels the back of his neck start to flush, and he occupies himself by taking a sip of his coffee. Akira peers over the rim of his mug and Goro is still looking at him, albeit a little more softly. 

"Well, Akira?" Makoto asks him, wiping her mouth on a napkin. "What do you think?"

He blinks, then nods. "Yeah, the beach sounds good."

Hifumi was correct about the weather being lovely. The sun hangs in the cloudless sky, glistening on the water. Futaba huddles under the parasol she scavenged from the attic, trying to keep her laptop from overheating. Next to her, Goro leans back on his elbows, languidly flipping through his book. An unbuttoned shirt is hanging loosely from his form, sky blue in color. Akira thinks it suits him. 

Makoto is trying to herd everyone into a game of volleyball, but Ryuji keeps eluding her capture, racing Hifumi out to the buoy bobbing on the horizon. Yusuke watches them from the rockpools, having finished his grand sandcastle masterpiece. 

Akira squirts a blob of sunscreen on his finger, sneaking up behind Futaba. With a sly grin on his face, he smears the cold lotion on the back of her neck. She yelps, clawing at the air around her. 

"What the fuck?" She barks, shivering. "Akira, you _toad_!" 

He throws his head back with laughter, rubbing the sunscreen onto his pale arms. "Just keeping you safe! Sojiro will have my head if I return his daughter back to him roasted." 

She grumbles, trying to hide her smile behind her hand as she pushes her glasses back up her nose. Next to her, Goro laughs softly, placing his book down. He raises a hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun, despite having a pair of sunglasses on his head. 

"Ryuji, is that what you call swimming? _Miss Chouno_ could race laps around you, and you've seen her in the hallways!" He taunts, calling out to his friend. From the waves, Ryuji flips him the bird. 

Akira raises an eyebrow. "I don't see you raising the bar." 

Goro squints at him, his mouth drawn in a thin line. "Is that a challenge?" 

"Is it if you think you can beat me, _Senpai_." He replies, grinning. 

There's a small moment of stillness, where neither of them moves an inch. Then, like little children, they're racing to the ocean, Goro tossing his sunglasses and shirt behind him as he sprints. Akira gets to the water first, but Goro's _fast_. They're neck and neck, Goro smacking his hand on the buoy first, but Akira gaining mileage as he nears the shore. He looks over his shoulder in preparation to shout in victory, but Goro grabs his ankle, pulling him backward. 

Akira splutters, dunking his head under in retaliation. "You cheater!" 

"You're doing it too!" Goro gasps, pushing all of his hair out of his face. 

Ryuji watches from the shore, a small towel draped around his neck. "Akira would've won, by the way." He gloats, grinning like a shark. 

Goro mouths profanities at him as he wades back onto the shore. Akira laughs, splashing a sheet of water into the sore loser's back. He doesn't even look over his shoulder when he throws Akira the middle finger, shaking out the seawater from his hair. 

Hifumi gives him a hair tie, then drags Akira over to the messy lines Makoto drew in the sand. "Come on, I'd like to see your volleyball skills. That's what Shujin's good for, no?" 

Apparently, Shujin's lowest-performing members of gym class are enough to beat a few Kosei students. Although Yusuke's height gives him an advantage, Akira notices that he's often distracted by Ryuji, who leaps up into the air to deliver a spike from the depths of hell. Futaba screeches, running away from the ball. 

Hifumi puts on her scariest voice, and yells, "Futaba, you're meant to catch it, not be _chased_ by it!" 

"Y-Yes, General!" The ginger-haired girl yelps, using Hifumi's codename out of respect and sheer terror. 

Makoto, on the other hand, is grimly quiet. Akira waits on the sidelines, keeping score. She flashes him a look, and he slowly takes a few steps backward. Goro has a grim look of determination on his face as he sets the ball, his eyes flashing with focus. Makoto leaps into action and jumps into the air. Her arm smacks the ball with such force, Akira thinks it generates enough heat to turn the sand to glass. Makoto and Goro high-five each other, and watch as Hifumi sinks to her knees. 

"A staggering defeat. I am ashamed to say that I concede." She mutters darkly, her hair falling into her face. "You win this round, but the game can still be mine." 

Goro raises an eyebrow. "Oh? And how will you rise from the ashes?"

Hifumi's forest-green eyes flash. "Like _this_." 

She holds the ball in her left hand, widening her stance. Bringing her right hand underneath the ball, she makes the motion of hitting it on its underside. As she arcs her hand wide, Makoto slides backward, the sand spraying underneath her heels. 

Hifumi lightly taps the underside of the ball, and it unceremoniously drops on the other side of the line they drew in the sand. Futaba cheers obnoxiously, hugging the older girl tightly. Ryuji falls to his knees, screaming at the sky. Goro makes a disapproving noise.

"I admit, that was a fine technique. We admit defeat at the hands of Kosei." He sighs, looking away. 

Makoto walks across the sand to shake hands with Hifumi, who smiles brightly. 

"Who wants lunch?"

Futaba goes back to the house with Makoto and Hifumi to help with dinner, leaving the boys to meander around the beach. The sun starts to sink low in the sky, a few hours away from disappearing behind the horizon. Yusuke lounges on a towel, staring up at the emerging stars. He points upward and points out a constellation Akira hasn't seen before. 

"These are different than the country stars." He says, gazing up at the sky. 

Yusuke nods. "It all depends on the location and light pollution. Over there, as you can see, is Venus." 

Ryuji marvels at the artist's findings then scoots a little closer to him. "What other ones can you show me?"

Goro rolls his eyes, getting to his feet. He pulls Akira up with him, nodding to the other side of the beach. "We should leave them to it. Ryuji's flirting is the worst." 

Akira nods, whispering back, "I've already sacrificed enough for love this week. Let's go." 

They slowly make their way across the expanse of sand across the line of the coast, walking along the part of the sand that's constantly smoothed by the waves. Goro's shirt flutters in the wind, trailing behind him like a cape when the breeze gets strong. It's pleasantly warm, but the wind is enough to raise goosebumps on Akira's skin. 

They don't speak for a while, they just look ahead. At least, when Akira catches Goro looking at him, he looks ahead. 

"You alright?" He asks, the soft lull of the waves behind him. 

Goro blinks, then nods his head. "I'm fine." 

Akira raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You're thinking pretty loudly." 

"Am I?" He laughs softly, then looks out to sea, "I guess I am. It's not often that I get to act like this." 

Akira cocks his head to the side like a curious bird. "Like what?" 

"A teenager." He states. 

The dark-haired boy nods in understanding but doesn't say anything. They continue to walk, the waves erasing any proof of their footsteps as they pull in and out. The moon rises slowly, like a coin trick in slow motion. It's pale and bright, a silver sphere rippling on the surface of the water. It bathes the rocks in a light glow, and Akira watches Goro take it all in. 

"Is the city boy enjoying life out of Tokyo?" He teases, folding his hands behind his neck as he walks. 

Goro laughs, then nods. "It's nice to be able to breathe. And you don't get skies like these in Tokyo." 

They get to the end of the beach, and they stop, watching the waves drag themselves over the rocks. Akira walks into the seafoam, closing his eyes when the breeze blows ocean air onto his face. 

"I know what you mean," He murmurs, "When you say that you don't get to act your age." 

Goro gives him a tenebrous look, one Akira hasn't seen before, and smiles slowly. "Do you, now?" 

Akira turns around, facing his friend. "Well, it's not every day you help a charming high school detective hunt down a serial killer using supernatural methods. We don't really get a break." 

"So, you think I'm charming?" He says, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and crossing his arms over his chest. 

Akira makes a vague cross between a nod and a shrug. "Depends."

"On what?" Goro barks out a laugh, his eyes glittering with sharp mirth.

Akira grins. "Who you're talking to. Sometimes, when you're comfortable, you slip into your real personality."

Goro raises an eyebrow. "And, pray tell, which personality is that?" 

He watches Akira from the shore, just out of the water's reach. Akira feels the waves ebb and flow on the back of his legs, and from here, he can see the salt glimmering on Goro's skin. 

"You're sly. Smart and scathing. You pretend that nothing gets under your skin, but you feel things real deep. You hold your card close to your chest, but I think you're starting to play them." Akira says, staring straight at him.

Goro doesn't speak for a moment, he only studies the expression on Akira's face. Then he steps into the ocean, walking up to him. 

"You'd be surprised at how many cards I haven't shown you." He says, giving Akira a sharp smirk. 

(And it is at that moment, Akira knows that he isn't being entirely honest with himself. 

He didn't know if it was bad that he had a crush on someone while still grieving Naoya. It had been a while, yes, but he had really been in love with him. Looking back on it now, he still isn't sure, but the word "crush" no longer applies. Akira really doesn't mean to, but he's slowly getting wrapped up in Goro's game of Teasing-You-And-Pretending-That-It-Has-No-Effect-On-Either-Of-Us. After he kissed him in Leblanc, Akira wasn't sure if he could really ignore it, or that he was telling himself the truth when he said that he expected Goro to dispel any feelings from it. In all honesty, there was a small part of Akira that wanted it to be real. 

However, he has convinced himself that Goro doesn't feel the same way. Of course, he's absolutely wrong, but neither of them knows that. Goro's in a very similar position. Neither of them is willing to make the first move and to be honest, it's getting old. 

At least, that's just how _Futaba_ thinks Akira's thinking. Wow, try saying that five times fast.

Futaba sighs as her train of thought finishes, dropping the binoculars onto her bed. God, emotionally constipated boys are so _useless_. She had seen everything that happened in the café (although she wishes she didn't. Becoming invested in her surrogate sibling's love life was _incredibly_ tiring), and now she's speculating Akira's thoughts on the king of emotional repression himself. She planned out a probability tree and everything. Who says love can't be made into math? 

But she can't quite figure out what they're doing now. Akira's either thinking about his obvious crush on Goro or he's trying to push it back into the depths of his soul. But she could also be wrong. She's not Akira, and she doesn't actually know what he's thinking. For all she knows, they could actually hate each other. Oh, whatever. Dinner smells _really_ good, and she wants to get the biggest portions before anyone else does.)

Akira raises an eyebrow, smiling like a cat. "Oh? And what cards haven't you shown me?" 

"Are you sure you want to know?" Goro teases, and Akira wonders if this is still a game to him. 

He's not quite sure. Feelings are complicated. He's making this up as he goes along. But he's pretty sure about one thing. 

"I want to know everything." He murmurs. 

Goro's eyes flash, and for the second time, he leans in. Akira's hands falter from their place behind the nape of his neck as Goro's lips brush against his. It's quick and chaste, and Akira is reeling after it. Goro's gaze drops to Akira's lips, and he exhales shakily. 

"We really need to stop doing this." He says. 

Despite this, he kisses Akira again, placing his hands on either side of his face. Akira tentatively brushes his hand against Goro's forearm in an attempt to steady himself. 

He draws back for air, his face flushed. "Yeah, maybe. Another one couldn't hurt though." 

"No, it couldn't" Goro breathes, and closes the distance between them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't expect this to snowball into bad flirting, but here we are.  
> have to feed the fans somehow lmao


	14. rust and ruin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good things never last.

The waves gently ebb and flow on the sand, and Goro can taste Kurusu Akira on his tongue. He shouldn't be doing this. He really shouldn't be doing this, but he can't stop himself. His hands thread themselves into Akira's curly hair, and the grip he has on his shoulder is sending electric shocks into his bloodstream. Goro breaks off for air, then takes in the dark-haired boy's flushed face, his wide eyes, and swollen mouth. He's so different, so _sweet_. It leaves a strange aftertaste in Goro's mouth, so he kisses him again to drown it out. 

How they're going to sleep tonight is a complete mystery, and Goro left his coat back in the house, so right now, he's not a detective. He's a teenager. And teenagers shouldn't owe this world shit. Akira laughs softly into his mouth, the salt on his skin glimmering like stardust. 

Just when he's about to say something, Goro's phone rings in his pocket. He curses. 

"Sorry, I need to take this." He murmurs, bringing his phone to his face. "Hello?" 

Shirogane answers, his voice angry. "Where the hell are you, Akechi? There's been another incident. Some kid from your school again." 

Goro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Which one?" 

Shirogane takes in a shaky breath. "That's the thing. He's unidentifiable due to his injuries. The body was mutilated after death."

"God, that's twisted. I'm out of the city right now, but I can get to the office tomorrow. I'm sorry I wasn't there, Shirogane. It won't happen again." He looks down at the waves, biting his lip. 

Shirogane huffs at him from the other end of the line. "It's fine. Just be here by sundown tomorrow." 

"Yes, sir. Good night, sir."

That evening, everyone is silent at dinner. Makoto has her head in her hands, muttering the probabilities of the victim being someone she knows. Ryuji stares at his food, his chopsticks limp in his hand. Hifumi stares at the way the water in her glass shakes every time Makoto hits the table in frustration. Yusuke absentmindedly pushes his food around his plate, Futaba leaning into his side like a scared puppy. She grips his shirt like a lifeline, her fingers trembling as too many thoughts run through her head. Goro stares at nothing in particular, tracing his bottom lip with his thumbnail. His hand is next to Akira's, barely touching him, but it's enough to keep the dark-haired boy from completely losing it. 

Akira considers calling Mishima just to check if he has information on the victim or if the victim _was_ Mishima. But he can't subject himself to that much intensity right now. Makoto hits the table again, and he stands up, his chair pushing away from the table. Without another word, he hurtles up the stairs. 

"Akira!" Goro calls after him, then scales the steps, two at a time, to catch up to him. 

Hifumi gently takes Makoto in her arms and ushers her to the balcony, sitting her down on the deck chairs to watch the sea and calm down. Akira doesn't notice any of this. All he can think about is how they failed. They failed to stop the killer. They all _assumed_ that they could take a vacation while a serial killer was using the cognitive world for immoral purposes. Two hands place themselves on his shoulders and ground him, keeping the ground steady as it threatens to slip away. Goro looks into his eyes, studying the way his face reveals nothing. Akira keeps his face vacant. 

"Akira?" He murmurs, and shakily, he leads him up the stairs and sits him down on the bed. "Can you say something?" 

"Like what?" Akira croaks, looking up at the detective. "This is my fault." 

Goro scoffs. " _Don't_. You know that's bullshit. You had no part in the murder, and if we keep thinking about how we could have fixed the problems in the past, we'll let the problems happening now fester. We can't afford that. Akira, this is in no way, shape, or form your fault." 

He doesn't respond. He can't, because there isn't anything else to say. He wants more than Goro is willing to give him right now, and he can't ask him to just rewrite his entire personality until he calms down. Akira's fingers curl tightly into his hair, and he stares at the grains in the planks of the hardwood floor. 

"Akira?" Goro asks quietly, his hands hovering over his shoulders. "Akira, can you still hear me?" 

He doesn't respond. The older boy bites his lip, then inhales deeply. Akira finds himself being pulled closer to his chest, arms wrapping around him tightly. He freezes for a moment, then slowly unthreads his hands from his hair and places them tentatively on Goro's back. They stay there for a while, the faint sound of the sea echoing through the walls of the house. 

The next morning, they pack up and go. Futaba and Ryuji sit in the back, this time, playing the silly games on the backs of teen magazines to pretend that everything is fine. Makoto doesn't speak for the entire journey, pressed between Yusuke and Hifumi. Goro drives, relying on Akira's map-reading skills to get them back to Tokyo. There isn't any music in the car, and Futaba's stiff laughter makes the journey seem longer, and the car seem colder. 

The freeway lights are shutting off one by one as the sun rises behind the car, pairs of headlights speeding past them in the lightening gloom. Akira stares past the dashboard, then flicks his gaze up to the rearview mirror. Makoto has fallen asleep on Hifumi's shoulder, her hair covering her eyes. Hifumi is slowly dozing off as well. He turns back to look at the moon following the car. The encroaching daylight is cautiously nibbling at it, dulling its glow, smothering the stars behind it. 

Goro glances at him, then offers a quiet smile. Akira smiles back, then passes him the thermos of coffee. 

"It's strange, isn't it?" Goro asks, taking a small sip.

Akira tilts his head to the side slightly. "What is?"

"How peaceful it is. Outside of the city, the cars don't feel as loud." He elaborates. 

"Still adjusting?" 

Goro shakes his head. "No. Just trying to fill the silence. It's better than thinking about other things." 

Akira takes the thermos back and lifts it to his mouth. "Yeah. It is."

They drop Makoto and Hifumi off at Makoto's place first. 

"Give the car back to me at school tomorrow." Makoto murmurs, tugging her suitcase from the boot.

Futaba and Ryuji move forward from the boot of the car, poking at Yusuke's sketchbook like carrion birds, flipping halfheartedly through the pages. Pink bleeds through the clouds as the sun rises, reflecting in Futaba's glasses as she points out the Skytower. Yusuke frames it with his fingers, and Ryuji stares at him with dumbfounded adoration, his mouth hanging open. Goro clocks them in the rearview mirror, and a quiet huff of laughter graces his mouth. The smile lingers in his eyes as his gaze falls to Akira.

"You got some sun." He states, and Akira absentmindedly brings his fingertips to graze his cheek. 

"Huh," Akira hums in agreement. The skin is hot beneath his hand. 

Goro focuses on the road, turning into Ryuji's street. "The freckles are sweet."

Futaba interrupts, sparing the younger boy from mindless spluttering. "Hey, can someone pass me that bottle of water?"

By the time they arrive at Kosei's dormitories, Futaba's snoring softly in the middle seat. Yusuke thanks Goro for the ride home, then hauls his trunk out of the boot. 

"We shall reconvene at Futaba's mother's study tomorrow, yes?" He confirms, his scarf blowing in the wind. 

Akira nods, then rolls up the window. "Take it easy, Yusuke." 

They get back onto the busy streets of Tokyo, narrowly avoiding rush hour as Goro pulls over near Yongen Jaya. Futaba sleepily drags her duffel bag up to her front door, then rings the bell. Sojiro answers, smiling as Futaba trudges past him, shoving a seashell into his hands. 

"Souvenir." She mutters, then promptly vanishes. 

Sojiro flicks his glasses out, sliding them up the bridge of his nose. "You staying over at Goro-kun's, Akira?" 

The dark-haired boy quirks an eyebrow. "Wasn't planning on it."

"Ah. Well, I've got the keys to Leblanc in the safe in my attic for the bank holiday weekend. I don't necessarily want you climbing through the window, either." He explains. 

Akira winces. "Right." 

Goro hops out of the van, his hair tied back. "Everything alright?" 

Sojiro gestures in his vague direction, grimacing at Akira. "Well, you better ask him." 

After explaining the situation, Akira hums in concern. "Would it be alright if I crashed at yours for tonight?" 

Sojiro leans against the doorframe. "Assuming it's fine with your parents, that is." 

Goro bristles. He absentmindedly reaches to fiddle with gloves that aren't there, a piece of hair falling into his eyes. "It's fine. Come on, I'll help you with your stuff."

Akira apologizes profusely on the way to Goro's apartment for Sojiro's words. He says it's alright, but the words sting a little bit. It's another reminder of the phone calls he'll have to answer discreetly, hiding in the closet to talk to his father. Goro wonders if Akira would have the mercy to spare him the hand on the shoulder, the "I'm here if you ever need to talk to me," or the pitying sigh while his grey eyes glisten with tactless charity. 

Thankfully, Goro doesn't have to deal with it right away. Instead, Akira's slender fingers trace the top of the thermos, and he cracks a crooked smile. 

"You know, you never treated me to that dinner. We were too busy with the castle and all that."

As Goro turns onto the main road, he makes a noise of disappointment. "Ah, you're right. I'm so sorry. I can make up for it tonight if you want?" 

Akira laughs, and the sun sprays light on his messy curls. "Don't say it like you're booking an appointment. You don't need to be so professional with me, Goro. I'm pretty sure I know you well enough." 

He makes a mental note to seem more relaxed around him, and flashes him a sarcastic smirk. "If you say so." 

A little part of him takes pride in the way Akira's face flushes red. The lights turn amber and then red, the light of the sun flashing on the windows of the empty office buildings. There is silence for a moment, and the mirror-like windows quietly shine. Then, as if he can't take the feeling of being alone anymore, Akira takes Goro's face in his hands and kisses him. 

He leans on the compartment between the front seats, watching how Goro drives on after the lights change. "Part of me wishes that we weren't who we are." 

"How do you mean?" Goro replies, the wheel turning under his hands. 

Akira mulls over his answer like he's tasting a feeling he's never felt before on his tongue. "I wish we didn't have to track down serial killers using an underdeveloped science."

A humorless laugh leaves Goro's mouth. "I wish I had a clue of what goes on in your mind, Akira. How you still find it in yourself to hope for something better is beyond me, but I wish you the best. You have the freedom to believe that good things can happen to good people." 

Akira doesn't laugh. He just looks at the detective, a puzzling look on his face. It's earnest and tired. Goro can't look at it too long without feeling his palms start to itch in want of his fingernails carving little curves into them.

"Don't say it like you've given up, Goro. You're not much older than I am."

The car keeps going, and silence settles like fine dust.

Akira watches as Goro digs around his jacket pocket for his keys, his suitcase idly rolling inches away from him. He reaches out to take it, stopping the case from rolling off the apartment building's landing. The keys click in the door, and gloved hands take the suitcase from him, beckoning him inside. 

"It's not much, but I bet it beats sleeping on milk crates," Goro says drily, slipping his shoes off and placing his keys in a small dish by the door. Akira follows suit, leaving his tattered sneakers by the older boy's polished dress shoes. 

He cracks a grin. "Hey. It's a mattress _on_ milk crates. And don't judge it until you try it." 

"Assuming I want to sleep on your sorry excuse for a bed, that is." Goro quips from another room. 

Akira could say something flirty. But he doesn't, as it doesn't feel right. So he wheels his own suitcase out of the doorway, then wanders around the apartment. He gets to the living room, where a small sideboard houses a few framed photographs. In one of them, Ryuji beams up at the camera, his arm slung around a frowning Goro's shoulders. They're holding a massive fish, and Goro seems soaked to the skin. Another is of a woman with long, wavy brown hair. She smiles sweetly at the camera, a baking bowl in the crook of her elbow. Her eyes are the same shade of dark red as Goro's, and Akira assumes that this is his mother. 

There's one more frame on the sideboard. It's been turned over, so the photograph isn't showing. Akira reaches to turn it over, and his eyes meet three people. One is a young girl with gorgeous golden ringlets and baby blue eyes. She looks like a china doll, her face devoid of all emotion. A young Goro is standing next to her, his eyes staring straight into the camera. Behind both of them, a tall, bald man has his hands on both of their shoulders. His mouth is set in a grim line. 

A hand clamps onto Akira's wrist. He jumps, almost shattering the photograph's frame as he slams it down. Looking down at him, with an incredulous look on his face, is Goro. He releases Akira's wrist and looks to the floor. 

"Sorry. Reflex." He mutters, rubbing circles into his right hand's palm. 

Akira draws himself up, his hand drifting to his wrist. "Yeah, no worries. I shouldn't have been looking, anyway." 

Neither of them speaks for a moment, and when they go to fill the silence, their mouths open at the same time. 

"Sorry, you go first," Akira says, raising his hand up in surrender.

Goro places a hand on the sideboard. "I trust you recognized her? Takamaki?" Akira nods. He continues. "That's my father. He adopted her a year after her parents died. I can never bring myself to get rid of the damned thing, but I can't bear to look at it."

Silence falls like mourning silks over mirrors, heavy and suffocating. The photo stares up at him with two sets of vacant stares, and Akira can't help but wonder if Goro is keeping something from him. A phone rings, and Goro answers it, putting on a business-like voice.

"Shirogane. I just arrived at my apartment." He states. Shirogane says something on the other line, and Goro pinches his brow. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm fully aware that this isn't something trivial." 

Akira strains to hear the voice of Goro's elusive boss, but all he gets is a sharp rap on the head with the back of the older boy's hand. Mouthing at him to be quiet, Goro sends him a harsh glare. Then, snapping to attention, he frowns. 

"No, Sir, I'm alone." He stumbles over his words a little, and disappointment slithers onto his face. "Well, there's one person." 

Akira perks up, a feeling of dread washing over him while Goro struggles to force out his next sentence as Shirogane barks out questions at him from the other end of the line. 

"He's, um," Goro swallows, "my _assistant_. He's my assistant."

Akira chokes back laughter as his friend's face contorts into that of one belonging to someone being yelled at, bringing his palms together to rest his fingertips underneath his chin. 

"You want me to bring him to dinner with you?" Goro repeats, dread dawning on his face. "Are you sure? He's new and is a bit of a novice." 

"Rude," Akira mutters, shooting his friend a dirty look. 

Just as Akira's getting dressed for dinner, the door of Goro's room opens, and he steps out. The moment Akira takes in the white suit, the golden cufflinks, and the pinstripe waistcoat, he knows he's underdressed. Goro knows it too, as he looks at Akira's black jeans and grey t-shirt in horror. 

"Akira, you're _joking_." He groans, "I should have warned you, but really, you should have known that Shirogane has expensive tastes. Come on" 

Akira, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, follows his friend into his room. Immediately, Goro starts rifling through his wardrobe, pulling out suits and shirts, frowning, and making noises of disapproval. 

"This," He pulls out a dark suit jacket, "should fit. Try it on." 

He offers the coat hanger to him, expectantly watching Akira as he freezes up, standing in front of him with the hanger in his hands. Akira coughs. "Sorry, do you want me to go, or-" 

If he could take a photo of how red Goro's face is at that moment, he would. The detective immediately leaps towards the door, his eyes firmly planted on the floor. 

"No, no, sorry. I'll go." He mutters, shutting the door behind him. 

Letting out a bemused laugh, Akira tugs his shirt over his head and gets changed into the suit. Having never worn one before, the fit of the waistcoat over the shirt is somewhat odd-feeling, but comfortable in its own way. He starts to struggle when the tie comes into play. It's deep crimson in color and is slightly stiff from not being worn. Hesitantly, he knocks on the door. 

Shuffling comes from the other side, and it swings open. Goro blinks expectantly, seemingly recovered from his blushing and stuttering. "Everything alright?" 

"Could you, um," Akira trails off, offering him the tie and pointing to his collar. 

"Ah, right," Goro smirks, huffing out a wry laugh, "wasn't expecting you to struggle with a tie, _Joker_ , but here we are."

Frowning, Akira watches Goro's face as his hands move around his neck, tugging at each end of the tie. "Hey, this isn't exactly easy, Crow."

A hand tilts his chin up, and Goro's eyes meet his with razor sharpness, a sly smile on his face. "It's not rocket science." 

Then, as if he's remembered himself, Goro's smile falls, and he busies his hands by tying the final knot. Akira feels his own ears turn red, and he averts his eyes. This is the umpteenth time where they've started and stopped, their accidental advances halting and unsure. It makes his head hurt, and his heart stutter in his chest. A pat on his chest brings him out of his thoughts, and he looks back at his friend. 

"You're all done." Goro coughs, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. "Now, you're to address Shirogane as 'Sir,' don't speak unless spoken to, and if he asks about what you do as work, just say you take care of files. Understood?"

He nodded, sliding his hands into his pockets. The situation dawns on him, and the feeling of helplessness is difficult to smother. If anything, if he feels something that isn't guilt, it's frustration. It's anger, at the world, at himself, at the stupid app, and the murderer. It was careless of them, and now they're going to have to pick up the pieces. Goro stares at him with a distant expression on his face, one of concern and disappointment. Akira looks up, biting the inside of his cheek. The older boy takes his hand, impulsively and quick, and nods. 

"I know." Goro's hand is warm without the leather of the gloves in the way. He runs his thumb over Akira's knuckles. The dark-haired boy grips it tightly, tugging him closer and placing his other hand over the breast pocket of Goro's white suit. The skin of his cheek grazes his friend's, his lips pressed to the corner of his mouth. 

"I'm sorry," Goro states, turning to kiss him again, "I really am." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhh i promise i haven't forgotten about this fic i'm just a little stuck lmfao


End file.
